I Can't Get Her Off My Mind
by seaecho
Summary: Davy takes a girl he hardly knows on vacation, unaware of the adventure that awaits them. Then Peter enters the picture...Slash, het sexual situations, some language. Davy/Peter/OFC.
1. Chapter 1

There was that pesky feeling again... the warm tingling on her neck. As if someone were breathing softly on it. Only no one was.

Deanna sighed. She lifted her weary eyes from the book she'd been poring over to see those familiar dark eyes boring their way into her soul. _Again. _Examining, pondering, evaluating her-ruthlessly.

_Damn! _She felt naked. Not physically naked, but psychologically naked, as if he could see every musing, every speck of pleasure, every fleeting annoyance, even every hesitation she harbored. Everything that was crammed into her groggy brain. She was so damn tired of studying, and those relentless dark eyes just made her feel all the more jaded.

Why did he have to be here just about every time she was? She already knew from past experience that she wouldn't be able to concentrate now. Might as well just give up now instead of spending the next couple of hours reading the same paragraph over and over again, absorbing none of the words.

She would have started going to a different library, although it was inconvenient, being a longer drive, if he were really creeping her out. But amazingly, he wasn't. Besides intruding on her thoughts, he had not approached her at all. She kept telling herself that there was no reason she should have to drive to another library, using up ten extra minutes of her time, just to avoid something she should just be able to ignore, anyway. The problem was, she couldn't. Ignore him, that is.

Derrick slid into the seat beside her, making her startle. He was her friend... sort of. She'd met him at the community college that she attended. They were taking the same creative writing class, and since he sat next to her in class, they'd talked occasionally, gotten along splendidly, and now had sort of an unconfirmed friendship. Derrick knew she came here three or four nights a week to research for a story she was doing for the class, so he sometimes showed up to keep her company. He never bothered her-just sat beside her while doing his own research. She supposed it was because he enjoyed her companionship. They were both the quiet, shy type.

"I see your admirer is here again," said Derrick, being careful not to indicate to the stranger that he'd spied him.

"Yeah, unfortunately. What is it with that guy?" Irritation peppered her voice.

"Like I told you, I think he has a crush on you."

"Derrick, will you stop saying that? He has a book in front of him."

"Yeah, but he's not looking at it most of the time. Nor any other time he's been here."

"Well, I'm about fed up with him. I should go over there and tell him to get lost. If he weren't so damn attractive, I would!"

She'd said it out loud, staggering herself as well as Derrick. She'd known it all along, of course. It was just that she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, keeping herself harnessed, and trying to channel her thoughts so she wouldn't stray from her necessary studies.

Derrick's posture straightened noticeably. He took a deep breath. "Ohhhh, so that's it..." Deanna, turning her head and looking at him, saw how wooden he suddenly appeared, could see the realization hitting him, and felt like kicking herself. She hadn't even allowed _herself_ to dwell on the fact that she found the stranger disturbingly handsome, and now she'd just admitted it to Derrick! What a blabbermouth she was!

"I should have known... I couldn't see why you tolerated him for as long as you have. Now I know why," Derrick's voice had taken on a different quality, and Deanna regarded him, assessing him covertly. Were his words and his tone insinuating something? She was so tired, that though normally insightful, she was clueless.

Derrick was a nice guy. Unassuming and very easy to talk to, he was ordinary looking in that he could blend in well with a crowd; he didn't stand out. Light tawny brown hair worn slightly long, as was the style; medium brown eyes and a warm, deep voice made him approachable and likeable, even when he openly admitted he was a book worm, something that was distasteful to some of the other young people in the nineteen sixties. He wore the round Windsor eyeglasses a la John Lennon, and they fit his personality well; the scholarly look became him. He wasn't the type of guy who attracted girls because he wasn't particularly notable, confident or vibrant. He was intelligent though, and Deanna found him very engaging, although she felt no attraction to him other than the fact that he was a challenge to take on in conversation. It was fun to pick his brain. She didn't have to "dumb down" for him. He was up for any discussion, holding his own, usually effortlessly, regardless of the subject.

But as far as the bulk of girls were concerned, sadly, Derrick was rather boring. He didn't lift weights, play sports, and he wasn't taken to dancing or any kind of flamboyance. He just kind of intermixed, never calling attention to himself. Girls were too frivolous to appreciate his mind the way Deanna did. He also had an uncanny way of getting inside people's heads. Listening eagerly, he made you feel like you mattered.

Immediately, she saw a flash of jealousy flicker in his eyes. She was nearly appalled. How could he be jealous? They'd only just become friends a few weeks ago. Guys weren't good at masking that specific emotion. Deanna had come to the conclusion that males displayed jealousy and anger very well, but, for the vast majority of them, other emotions—not so much. Shallow creatures, they were. That was why she didn't have a boyfriend.

To be fair though, Derrick hadn't shown any shallowness until now. It was that primitive male hormone thing that was completely baffling to her. That is, if it really _was _jealousy she was detecting.

And Derrick didn't have a girlfriend. Unreasonably, she felt distaste. Was that the only reason he showed up at the library? Because he was hoping for something more than friendship from her? She would have liked to be appreciated as a person, a friend, not as someone who might be girlfriend material, or worse, someone to screw casually. She hadn't gotten that impression from him before… but he was a man, after all.

Deanna felt the warmth again, swirling around her like a whisper, and meeting the stranger's eyes for a fraction of a second, it escalated. She had to admit the feeling was enchanting. He sat only a few tables away, facing her. And Derrick saw the whole thing. He saw Deanna's eyes light on the stranger, then flick away. Didn't she know that averting her eyes like that was downright tempting for a guy?

She wasn't trying to flirt, though. In fact, she was getting more and more antagonized by this guy's audacity, even though the enchantment remained. Their eyes had met so many times in the last two weeks that he had to know she was becoming irked by his stares. Yet… he was appealing to her. Terribly. What a contradiction she was!

Something flittered through her belly and spine. That throb, that liquid warmth that she knew could be only one thing. Sexual arousal. She hadn't even dated in about a year. Because of how flakey, arrogant or possessive guys were, she didn't want the complications. They were either too pushy, forward and clumsy, or they were only out to get laid. That was why she had friended—or was in the process of friending, Derrick. He was different… or so she'd thought. But now he was acting strangely affected, and her female intuition told her the green-eyed monster had taken hold of him.

But in the next moment, Derrick was back to normal. His expression belied any trace of resentment. Maybe she'd imagined it.

"How am I ever going to get this story done if he keeps this up?" Deanna implored Derrick.

"The other library…" Derrick began.

"I'm _not _going to another library that is out of my way! That's giving him too much power!"

"Can't you just not look at him?"

"Well, yes. But every time I look up, I have to be careful where my eyes go. I can't just be myself, and I certainly can't _think,_ knowing he's looking at me."

Derrick nodded his understanding, but who, he wondered, _wouldn'_t notice Deanna? Her fine, naturally honey blonde hair, pretty eyes that were a combination of colors that he'd once read would qualify as "grey," her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion, the sassy way she walked, as if she had all the confidence in the world. But he knew she didn't. She just put on airs sometimes so she could appear to be bold, because that was how she really wanted to be. In reality, she didn't give herself nearly enough credit where her looks or smarts were concerned. He knew that without even asking. It was all there if you cared enough to look for it. And he did.

And he did secretly lust after her. He couldn't help it. She was the type that attracted men like night flying insects to light. She was so indifferent to men—or at least appeared to be, that, at first, they were intrigued, but eventually, when they got nowhere with her, they gave up, figuring she was spoken for, or perhaps they felt they weren't good enough for her. Even though she wasn't beautiful by conventional standards, she was indeed pretty, and she was attractive in so many other ways. Her poise, her personality, once you got to know her, blossomed. He knew she hadn't dated in a long time, because she'd hinted at it. What he didn't know was that she normally wouldn't have given him clues of that bit of information if not for fear _he_ might become interested in dating her himself.

She'd erected a big stop sign. He picked up on a hell of a lot more than she knew. He couldn't help being a bit mesmerized, but she obviously had high standards. That was the vibe she seemed to be giving off, although unconsciously. She was nice enough to him, but he sensed she was off limits to him. There was nothing wrong with that. Either you felt it, or you didn't. You couldn't consciously change it.

Deanna didn't in fact, think much of herself. She wasn't, and never had been, the gorgeous, sexy type that, for instance, cheerleaders or models are made of. She thought those things trivial anyway. Guys did flirt with her now and then, and it mystified her. It was only when she was truly being herself that she noticed men were watching her. She liked to laugh, and she had a unique charm that Derrick had picked up on almost from the moment the two of them had really started talking. He'd not been a threat, and had made her feel comfortable, so she'd let a little of her somewhat repressed carefree temperament peek out when she was with him.

Her friend Cassie knew the "real" Deanna very well, and she often told Deanna that if she'd act natural as she did with her, and not restrained and subdued, she'd have her choice of guys. But having guys who wanted to date her was not what she wanted. She didn't want popularity with men. She had tried to get that across to Cassie, but Cassie didn't seem to digest it. To Cassie, having lots of guy friends to flirt with was the ultimate trip.

When Deanna had had too much, was pushed too far, she did speak up, but not until then. And she was almost to that point now, concerning the guy with the smoldering eyes. If he wasn't so damn cute, she would have been giving him dirty looks by now. Derrick glared, but the guy wouldn't let his eyes settle on Derrick's for a second. He was plainly disregarding Derrick, which got Derrick's dander up.

"Want me to go over and have a talk with him?" Derrick asked Deanna. He itched to tell the wretched degenerate to bug off.

"No! I can handle this myself. It's just that he hasn't _done_ anything, so I, or you, don't really have a right to light into him."

"He's being creepy…"

"He might have a reason. We don't know his story."

"Reason? He's a sicko. Sickos aren't reasonable. You're making excuses. I think you like him, and you like the attention. You just admitted you find him attractive," Derrick knew he was skating on thin ice as he fished for her reaction. He actually thrived on just watching her facial expressions. But he wasn't doing this just to see what her response would be. He was concerned about the guy's possible intentions.

"Good Lord, Derrick. I'll never get my story done, and I'll never become a writer if you don't stop needling me about that guy!"

"You're the one who is freaking out about him," Derrick reminded her.

Davy couldn't quite figure her out. The only thing he knew for sure was that she was skittish. He knew the guy that was often with her at the library was not her boyfriend. Subtle signs were evident. The guy sat next to her, but not in close proximity as a boyfriend would. He'd never seen any signs of affection between them either. Not even any meaningful looks passed between them.

The way she avoided Davy's eyes had him enthralled. She was either very shy, indifferent, or stuck up. She did put on a confident façade that he could see right through. He had experience with women, all types of them. She wasn't fooling him—his gaze was affecting her_. How_ though, he wasn't certain, and because of this, he guessed he could rule out indifference. If she were truly indifferent, she would block him out and pay him no mind, no matter how much he stared. He doubted she was stuck up because of her lack of self-possession. So it had to be shyness.

She didn't seem to be worried that he was some kind of stalker. Even though her eyes would meet his only briefly and rarely, she didn't avoid his gaze altogether. And that told him she probably wasn't afraid. Most girls who liked his type would return his stare, or walk past him purposely, flaunting themselves, or even approach him. She did none of that, and this, coupled with her exotic, unique looks had him entangled in a way he'd never been before. He couldn't seem to get her off his mind. He was, simply, fascinated with her.

Never had Davy lacked for feminine attention. So what was he doing here in the library, at the very least, twice a week, staring at a girl who was obviously only here to study? And one that, in addition, had a guy by her side? And paid him no mind? Davy had picked up the guy's intentions from the very first time he'd seen him. The guy was as taken with her as he was. He was doing a lousy job of hiding it, too. Maybe _she _didn't recognize it, but to Davy, the guy _acted_ the way Davy _felt._ A goofy grin, sitting as close as he dared without offending her, stealing sideways glances at her whenever he saw the opportunity. It was pitiful—the guy even stared at her shoe that dangled half- on and half- off her foot as she bounced it, a habit likely caused by her nervous energy. The guy watched her flip her hair over her shoulder when it obstructed her view of the book, whose pages, interestingly, rarely got turned. His eyes wandered to her lips when she spoke. Every great once in a while, his eyes flitted to the front of her blouse, but, knowing this was a risky undertaking, he would rip his eyes away before she could catch him. Davy didn't miss any of it.

The guy had looked at him too, on many occasions. Davy acted as if the guy didn't exist. He wouldn't rise to the bait. The guy was calling his bluff by giving him the badass eye. _I'm tough—don't look at her unless you want a piece of me _is what the guy was trying to broadcast, but it wasn't working—Davy was not impressed. Davy didn't act guilty either. He was utterly ruthless. Guys like him were a dime a dozen. All dirty looks and no action. The girl didn't belong to him, so she was open season for Davy. He just continued to gaze at her, and to hell with the guy. If he wanted trouble, he could just walk over to Davy, and Davy would slash him to shreds with his tongue. His tongue that could make someone feel as unimportant as a mole. He put obnoxious people in their places. Yeah, in addition to his already sassy, spunky British spice, he'd learned a lot from Mike. It came in handy sometimes. On occasion he would revert to Mike's dry, seemingly lazy method of not suffering fools. He could make people feel as squish-able as a worm under his booted foot. That really made people mad, and Mike would not hesitate to back up his deceivingly languid, but ominous warnings. Davy was just as fearless.

Davy _had_ to be cocky at times, because guys often just assumed he would crumple if threatened because of his height. So he made up for it by being extra insolent, watching his back, and trusting no one until they proved their trustworthiness. But women… well, they were a different story altogether.

He liked to make conquests on a frequent basis. He loved the challenge the difficult ones presented, and he often set his sights on them. If they were too easy, or were all over him, they couldn't be chased, and pursing women was one of his favorite pastimes. So he took joy in breaking down the arrogant, the conceited, the apparently disinterested. Even the apathetic. He knew just what to say, how to flatter, and how to lure them to bed. He wasn't often turned down in the end. It was just a game, really. But he wouldn't pursue a girl who was obviously frightened of him. Only the spirited ones who could handle him. Only the experienced ones who knew how to give as good as they got. After all, he did have compassion and respect for women, even though his actions sometimes seemed to contradict that fact. It was just that the ones with a wild streak got his motor running. Not at the moment, though. This one was anything _but_ wild. Still, she held him firmly enraptured.

What did he have to do, anyway? Keel over on the floor? Bleed all over the place? Start acting like a crazy man by jumping from table to table and dancing on them like a maniac? It was either that, or go up to her and talk to her. Not just talk to her, but sweet talk her. He knew how to do that. But with that cat sitting next to her, things might get uncool. Making eye contact was just not cutting it. It almost always had before, but this time… well, this time he was going to have to _work _at it. Getting a message across was going to take more than the fractions of seconds he'd actually gotten her to look at him.

Being here in the library had been a mistake to begin with. He'd returned Peter's overdue book, only to find the amount Peter had given him to be fifty cents short. After coughing up the two quarters, he should have just walked out. But then he'd seen some muscle car magazines that caught his interest. From there, he'd gone to the book section, his eyes skimming the shelves. He must have been influenced by Peter and Mike, who were both avid readers. Action, adventure, sports… there was no end to the treasures on those shelves.

Until… until he'd laid eyes on her sitting over at one of the long tables with lots of chairs on both sides, engrossed in a book. Well, she'd looked like she'd been engrossed anyway. That was the precise moment she'd chosen to raise her head, and her eyes hooked his. She'd looked away in a hurry, but it hadn't been fast enough. Now his interest was piqued. Most girls smiled back at him, but this one hadn't even given him a chance to smile at _her._ Shy? Not used to male attention? He wasn't sure, but there was one thing he hadn't detected, and that was a lack of interest. She'd noticed him alright. He could read girls pretty damn fluently. So now he was determined to see her up closer. That was when he had seen the guy—the same one that was here again tonight, sitting beside her, expectant longing etched on his face. The guy was doing a miserable job at trying to draw her to him. He looked like a puppy who yearned for a bone. You had to use finesse with girls, but you also had to appear confident, sure of yourself. This guy was anything but. He was doing the sloppiest job Davy had ever seen.

God, but he looked hot! A turquoise turtleneck and black jeans, and those sexy boots. Blue and white love beads draped halfway down his chest. A rugged, masculine watch, hair that was so shiny, the harsh library lights glinted off it like bronze. He'd attempted to smile at her, because she'd seen the beginning of it when she had turned her head away from his gaze. How hard it had been not to look at his smile straight on, take it in, enjoy every moment of it. But she hadn't permitted herself to. She'd caught a flash of dazzling teeth, and that was all she had allowed herself.

Davy wanted to walk up to her and gather her hair in his hands, knowing instinctively that it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to slide his fingers lightly along her cleavage that was teasing him mercilessly. Of course, he wouldn't have done that, but just the thought made the blood pool in his groin. Desire stabbed at him, fierce and sharp. A girl hadn't done this to him ever…not this pronounced. He would have had no trouble remembering if it had happened before. She was special, and he was damned if he wouldn't find a way to get past that dork she was sitting with, to have a private word with her.

* * *

Things were tense at the Pad. Everyone was touchy. Well, everyone except Peter, who was eternally chipper. Davy didn't know why they were all so testy. Maybe they were somehow picking up on his frustration about the mystery library girl? Nah, things had been getting dicey for a while. They practiced long hours. Mike and Micky were getting on each other's nerves, and Mike had snapped at Davy and Micky for practically squaring off earlier today. Over some stupid little thing.

"What's the matter with you two, man?" Mike was acting as if he weren't guilty of ever being in a mood. He was, in fact, the worst offender. Davy shook his head, not willing to get into a stalemate with Mike, which was usually what happened. Mike meant business when he threatened Micky and Peter, but for whatever reasons—probably because Davy was so much shorter, he never resorted to threatening Davy with bodily harm. He just tried to stare him down—an exercise in futility, as Davy refused to avert his eyes. Just_ a_sk_ the library girl_, he thought to himself ruefully.

"I don't even play an instrument most of the time!" complained Davy loudly. "You guys just go and practice without me. You don't need me. I feel like exploding."

"But you sing, and your tambourine and maracas add such a nice feel and rhythm," argued Peter mildly.

"You're a smart ass, David," Mike spoke up in his very frank, cut-to-the-chase way. "Always complaining about your arm getting tired when we practice. You have enough muscles in them that something like that shouldn't be happening."

"You try doing it for hours straight," countered Davy. "Not as much motion and… violence… is needed to play a guitar."

"I like the way you included the word 'violence,'" said Micky sarcastically. "Sounds like you wanna kick someone's ass. Why not just say it out loud?"

"I will, and I do—all of you. Well, except for Peter," was Davy's ready answer.

Peter smiled in his faultless, squeaky clean way. "You can always talk to me about anything, David."

Davy smiled, not able to quell it. Peter could literally change people's frame of mind—even strangers, with just one of his carefree, sunny smiles. No one could get mad at Peter. And if you ever _did_ get mad at him, you couldn't live with the guilt when you saw his crestfallen look. Peter was all about everyone else. He rarely wasted time feeling sorry for himself. He simply wanted everyone happy—peace and love, that was his thing.

"That vacation you won!" Peter suddenly came to life. "It's just what you need! To get away for a couple of weeks. Outasite, man!"

Davy had forgotten all about the vacation. It had slipped his mind entirely. He looked down at the kitchen table, at the two slips of paper that confirmed it. He'd entered a contest he'd seen in a magazine, then had forgotten about it until the call had come, and then the envelope in the mail a week later. Now that he thought about it, it was precisely what he needed. It might help everyone's frayed nerves. But to be gone for two weeks would be deserting the guys.

"_I am_ the best candidate," he said to himself, but still audibly. The others could continue playing their instruments, and Mike and Micky could keep singing with Peter as back-up. They would hardly notice he was gone. A lot of good he did _this _band. There he went, feeling down again.

"Pete's got a point there, David," said Mike. "Your vocals are coming along so well that two weeks wouldn't even put a dent in the band's progress. We'd just keep practicing, and when you came back, we'd just pick up where we left off. We'd have time to get the instrumentals just right. And we don't have any gigs lined up."

Yeah, thought Davy. Good thing they'd all saved a good chunk from the last few gigs. It would get them by for quite a while.

"Who would I take? It comes with two tickets."

"A chick, of course, silly," said Micky, giggling. "It says 'romantic getaway' on the brochure."

"But what chick? The only one who lights my fire...well, anyway…" he didn't want to reveal his lack of success with the girl at the library.

Peter steered him right out onto the deck and closed the slider so no one would hear. He knew Davy would confide in him because Davy trusted his discretion.

"Tell me, David," Peter's serene voice always had a calming effect, as it did now.

"It's a girl I've seen at the library a few times a week. I haven't even talked to her yet. I just look at her," confessed Davy reluctantly.

"You? You just look at her and don't go up to talk to her? Now you're sounding like _me_!" Peter was confounded.

"Well, a lot of times, a guy comes with her. He's not her boyfriend, but he wants to be, and I don't want to start any trouble."

"So you've never said a _word_ to her?" Peter just could not envision this scenario.

"No I just try to catch her eye, but she keeps avoiding looking at me."

"But how do you know she'd agree to go if you haven't even talked to her?" Peter's comment made so much sense that it cut into Davy. _Of course she wouldn't go with him. She didn't even know him! Except as a creep who stared at her._ Why was he even thinking about it? It was ridiculous.

"I never said I'd ask her to go," Davy reminded him.

"Maybe some other girl?" asked Peter.

"I don't dig any other girl right now. I'm hooked on this one," Davy said with a despairing sigh.

"Maybe I can think of a way to stall that guy who sits with her," Peter said, a crease between his brows as he contemplated it.

Davy laughed softly. "Pete, you'd have to stall him forever. I'd have to introduce myself, talk to her, and even then, I'd need a lot more meetings than one to get her to even consider going away with me for two weeks. She'd have to like me, and she'd have to trust me. That takes loads of time and patience."

"The liking wouldn't be a problem," said Peter with a lot more confidence than Davy felt. "But you're right—no chick is gonna go away with a complete stranger, no matter how cute he is." Peter blushed when he said the last sentence. He'd almost given himself away. There was a secret spot in his heart that belonged to Davy. No one knew—not a single soul. And no one ever _would_ know if it were up to him—except Davy…but that would likely never come about, because he doubted Davy would understand, and defining it would be next to insurmountable. Davy might take serious offense too. Well…maybe someday.

* * *

If Davy were going to introduce himself to her, not to mention, get to know her, he knew he had to act quickly. He'd hit that library every single night if he had to, until that goofy guy didn't show up, and then he'd go to work laying on the charm. The tickets were only good for another two months. He'd have to apply more caution, diplomacy and finesse than he ever had before with a girl. He'd have to somehow make himself so irresistible that she would end up hooked like he was—not being able to get him out of her mind.

Ah, yes. He was up for a good challenge, and this one ranked right up there with the best. Winning the favor of a very desirable girl always stirred him, amped him up, but this time it was different. There was so much on the line. Not just the vacation, but what she thought of him stood out more than anything else. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to want him. And then he would be able to whisk her away into paradise. Just the two of them. How often did an opportunity like that come up for a young man? One who was in a rock 'n roll band that was trying to gain notoriety, and not really making money hand over fist in the interim. So, this endeavor was of paramount importance to Davy. This vacation could be his ticket to nabbing that girl who had been haunting him for weeks.

* * *

The next two times Davy went to the library, the guy was present, and practically clinging to the girl with the blonde hair and gray eyes, devouring her with that look of intense longing that Davy was getting really, really sick of. The girl talked to him on and off, a few words here and there, but she showed none of the classic signs of interest that Davy easily recognized in females. None of the hair twirling, leaning toward the guy of interest, or the almost infallible sign of interest—touching. A girl who casually laid her hand on a guy's arm, hand or shoulder was usually amorous for him. Davy had studied females in detail, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the girl might like the guy as a friend, but he didn't stand a chance as big as a grain of sand of getting her romantically interested.

So… the third time, as is sometimes the case, turned out to be the charm. Davy found her alone. Showing up three nights in a row had won him a chance. He knew he had to move quickly. He had to be stealthy and smooth. Not appear to be _too_ smooth though, as that would make the girl more skeptical than she already was. Her manner had indicated she was leery of him. And no wonder…he must have looked half-witted these past weeks. He had to undo that, find just the right combination of confident, friendly, nonthreatening, and then mix it into a perfect blend. It had to be spot-on, cutting edge, or he'd blow everything.

Deanna saw him the moment he entered the library. Every time that damn door opened, she wondered if it was going to be him. Derrick had already told her he wouldn't be here tonight due to a prior commitment. So, when Davy walked in, there was no means of escape. She shouldn't have come here, knowing Derrick wouldn't be here, but she was nearing her deadline, and that had to take precedence.

She tracked him peripherally, even though her head was down, pretending to read. She saw his every step, even saw it slow ever so slightly when he spotted her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she sucked in a hearty gulp of air when he sat down right across from her, at the same table she sat at. Shit! He had her. And Derrick wasn't here to protect her.

She was more than afraid. The disquietude he caused made her unable to look up at him. She knew what he could do to her with just a glance, because he'd had her practically gasping for breath the other times she'd seen him, and that was from a few tables away. Up this close… she just couldn't do it.

"Hey…" his voice was soft, and it somehow stroked her, even though he didn't touch her.

"I know you aren't reading. Your eyes aren't moving. Don't be afraid of me."

The British accent caught her completely by surprise, and she went weak and a touch woozy. It was another hazard, as this made him even more attractive to her than he already was. What American girl isn't taken by a positively dazzling man with a British accent?

Her mind swirled with so many thoughts, she was helpless to even put a sentence together. What could she say, anyway? There was not a single thing she could think of that could come out of her mouth, and sound coherent right now.

He had her in his clutches, and she wondered if he knew that…if he did, she was done for.


	2. Chapter 2

So there they sat, Deanna practically grinding her teeth. It didn't take long for her to realize she couldn't remain looking down at her book indefinitely, and it was apparent Davy had no plans to leave, so she supposed she'd have to face the inevitable. She hated affording him the satisfaction of her acknowledgement, but this game could perceivably go on forever. Slowly, tentatively, she raised her head. She steeled herself for the devastation she knew was coming. And here it came...

Yes, in a word, he was devastating. She forgot how to expand her lungs in order to breathe. A punch right to the diaphragm is how it felt. He was that beautiful. That face, that smile, that…_everything. _She coughed a little, and grabbed her water bottle to take a sip because her throat convulsed in an eerie way. Like she was halfway between laughing and crying.

"Are you alright?" he asked, in that soft voice that could have been a purr.

"Yeah," she choked out, surprising herself by finding that she could actually speak. "You just jarred me when you sat down."

He wasn't sure what she meant by that. Jarred the table? He'd taken care to be graceful, so he was pretty sure he hadn't done that. Jarred her as in startling her? That sounded negative to his uneasy ears. He was apprehensive and tense, but he knew he had to slice through that somehow to display his genuine inner self by projecting a light and easy attitude. That was the essence of him, and he had to make sure she saw it. Put his best foot forward…

"I'm sorry if I've made you agitated. I just… enjoy looking at you," he said. Oh boy. That sounded super creepy. He had to get his groove on, slow his roll and appear cool, not portentous.

"You… you upset me a little when you kept looking at me from over there," she gestured toward the table where he had previously sat all those other nights.

"I couldn't come and make small talk with you like I wanted to because of the guy who is usually with you." There, now all his cards were on the table. She could do with them what she wanted.

Small talk sounded a lot less sinister than_ "I couldn't come over and make a move on you."_

Davy mentally patted himself on the back for that. He studied her as she took shaky breaths. She really was ruffled by his presence. He was puzzled, but then, the girls he was accustomed to would regularly bubble all over him, touching him, crowding him. The more demure ones would hang back as this one was doing. So he hadn't had a whole lot of involvement with the meeker types. Despite her disconcerted air, this one was full of composure, and he wasn't sure how that worked, but she managed it.

She looked even better up close than from thirty feet away. Her eyes had flecks of several different colors in them, and he could swear her peach pink lipstick called to him. Her neck was long and graceful, her hands small. He liked the fact that she didn't go overboard on the makeup, like so many of the girls of the day did. Her honey colored hair was fluffy and soft, clean, and his fingers twitched restlessly, even though he commanded them not to reach out and touch it. She was dressed conservatively compared to all the skin most other girls laid bare to the world with their skimpy tops and mini skirts that only barely covered their rears, and sometimes not quite. She had a quiet manner about her that sucked him right in. He had half-expected her to tell him to buzz off. She wasn't impolite—she just didn't talk. Davy struggled for something light to say. Funny how he was the definition of confidence with other girls. But then, there was a lot riding on this one. She made him wonder about all the nice ones he'd probably passed up in the past because they hadn't aggressively elbowed their way to the front of the group to get to him.

Silence hung over them, heavy like an impending storm. Davy called upon all his inner resources to think of something fast. Even if it wasn't witty.

"So how do you like Malibu?" Typical boring crap that other guys had probably tried on her dozens of times. But it was better than the oppressing silence.

"I love Malibu. Look… I'm supposed to be studying. Researching, really. I have a story to finish." He had her so flustered that she felt cornered—he could sense that.

Even so, he felt a pang of dejection at that remark. He wasn't used to being shined on like that. But the warrior in him wasn't giving up.

"Well then… you go to college? That's nice. I'll leave you to your studies. But just one thing before I go…" he hesitated, and she looked up expectantly. A little too swiftly. Ah, yes. He detected muffled interest radiating from her, which fed his hunger. Little nibbles could lead to a fine, filling meal. And she was feeding him crumbs just by showing the slightest bit of attentiveness.

He continued. "Would you like to see a movie with me some night when you don't have school, and you aren't studying?"

He'd gotten her good. That had come from left field, catching her unsuspecting. Therefore, she didn't have a ready retort. He'd slipped it in before she could come up with some kind of excuse. Normally, her mind was pretty fleet, but he had such a paralyzing effect on her that all she could do was stare at him, open-mouthed as he got up from the table, leaned over it, planting both hands flat on the smooth wood, fingers spread open, looking into her eyes in wait for her answer. She noticed the cat's eye ring on the ring finger of his right hand. Masculine, bold. Well, there was nothing like being put on the spot. She felt like a dog who couldn't escape, and feels the urge to snap at its captor.

His arms—good God! Even under the short sleeves he wore tonight, she saw the bulging of his muscles that stretched the material. Even his forearms were impressive, tanned like the rest of him, corded, and with prominent strong veins. She snapped her head away so he wouldn't discover her fascination.

"I don't want you to think me daft or anything. I just fancy a simple movie. I promise I won't overstep your boundaries. I have many references," a smile teased the corners of his full, pouty lips, and she had to giggle in spite of herself. If he weren't so adorable, so gallant, if he weren't seemingly unaware of how appealing he was…but how could he not know he was a virtual Prince Charming? Oh, he had to know. He probably had this song and dance memorized down to the word. Even to the point of appearing clueless when needed, so as to tempt the unsuspecting with apparent innocence. Yet, in spite of all that, with a jolt, she found herself accepting his overture.

She hardly realized she'd entertained his offer until he ran a forefinger lightly along her jaw, making her glad she was sitting down, for if she hadn't been sitting, she surely would have flopped down onto the table in a dead faint. The touch left her face hot and tingling.

"Do you want me to pick you up, or would you be more comfortable if we met here?" he indicated the library building.

"Um… yeah. Let's meet here."

"What day, and what time?"

Deanna hesitated, and noticed his eyes were very heedful, looking for doubt that he, without a question, would quickly try to assuage.

"Saturday, at eight?" With any luck, she'd be done with her assignment by then, since today was only Tuesday.

"Okay, I'll check the movie schedule. Here's my number." He slipped a small piece of paper into her purse, which sat on the table, blew her a discrete, understated kiss, and, against her will, she watched those hips, that luscious butt as if in a trance as he walked away and out of the library doors with a self-assured, easy stride. One would think he owned the world.

When Deanna got home, she wasn't grounded at all. In fact, it felt as if she hovered, only half conscious. Numb. She felt as if she'd been to a movie where a wonderful, dream guy swoops into the room from nowhere, and woos a girl, stealing her heart. The feeling after those romantic movies had always been of envy, and a touch of loneliness. But she guessed that, every once in a while, things happened in real life that couldn't be explained.

When she remembered to look in her purse, the slip of paper simply bore his phone number. No name. That was when she realized she hadn't told him her name either. This was the strangest way she had ever met a guy—it was almost comical. She reprimanded herself for having no fear of him. He could be a nut case. After all, he'd been in the library many times, just looking at her in that silent, hawk-eyed way of his. That was not normal, nor acceptable. Not to mention not polite. Then why had she accepted when he'd asked her on a date? Was it just his looks? Yep, in part. She was afraid it was a combination of his looks and his persona. He had obviously been raised well by a mother who insisted her son treat women with respect and reverence. Even though he_ had_ let his manners slip with his staring.

Just wait until she told Cassie about this! And Derrick too! But wait… Derrick didn't approve of the way the guy had been watching her. He was worried about her well-being. And maybe a little jealous—she wasn't sure. Either way, she wouldn't call him to tell him. He might ruin her excitement and anticipation with negativity. She'd call Cassie, as she knew Cassie would be infatuated with the story, and demand to know every little stinking detail. That was Cassie…

"Oh, Deanna! I wanna see him! He's really cute, huh?"

"Well, it would depend on taste, since everyone's is a little different, but I don't think _anyone_ would argue about him being a stone fox. It's funny because he's not the type I usually go for. He's "pretty," if you know what I mean. You know how I go for the super masculine type? Well, he acts masculine, but, at first glance, he doesn't appear to be particularly masculine. He's too perfect—not rugged looking at all. You should see the guns on him though! He's got a naturally dark complexion, and he has a nice tan on top of it. There is no way I can describe him though. You would just plain have to see him to believe him."

"When? When can I see him?" Cassie was thinking this guy had to be exquisite for her friend to sound so excited about. She hadn't seen Deanna show much interest in any guy in eons.

"I haven't even gone out with him yet!" Deanna laughed at Cassie, knowing her friend so well that she could have recited what she would say, verbatim.

"Well, if you continue to see him, maybe we could do a double date or something," suggested Cassie.

"Sure. But for right now, I hardly know the guy at all. I just hope the movie doesn't have any violence or embarrassing parts."

"Ah, come on. A sex scene would be just the thing to set the mood for you to screw his brains out!" said Cassie. She was not exactly known for being subtle.

"Cassie!" Deanna laughed because she couldn't help it. You never knew what might come out of Cassie's mouth.

Cassie knew Deanna absolutely abhorred anything approaching violence, but she just didn't quite get how Deanna could sometimes act almost like a prude. But yeah, she did understand how an explicit love scene would be very awkward for Deanna, who hadn't even dated anyone in a year, let alone had sex.

* * *

Saturday came around a lot quicker than Deanna was ready for. It snuck up on her. Well, not really. She was fully aware of how much time remained until her date with the dark stranger, but she'd kept it tucked in the back of her mind, poking fiercely at it when it tried to come to the fore. She didn't want to overthink it. She had gotten the rough draft done on her story, but of course, she still had a way to go with the editing, revising and proof-reading. At least she was making progress. Another week and she figured it would be done. It was a short story, not a novel, thank heavens. So she could afford to take a day off on her research. She'd gone to the library twice that week, and Davy had not shown up. He'd given her her space, and her estimation of him rose. Derrick had been there, and although Deanna saw him glance around a few times, he had not mentioned Davy.

Derrick had asked her if she'd be at the library Saturday, and she had told him no, that she had a date. His eyes had widened. He'd never even heard her mention a guy. He wondered if it were someone new, or maybe someone she'd met somewhere recently. Had to be, since he knew she hadn't dated in a while. Now he was curious…

* * *

Peter's reaction was enthusiastic. "Man, you're trippin'!" Peter was clearly very happy for Davy when the Brit had told him he'd actually made a date with the girl at the library. But he was also worried. He couldn't remember ever seeing Davy like this before. Davy had begun to carry a nail file with him at all times for fear he'd start his nail biting habit again. He'd licked it once, but the urge was always lurking when he was impatient about something. And Davy was smoking now and then too, since he'd asked the girl out, whereas usually it was just a once-in-a-while thing. Davy hardly knew the meaning of the word nervous, but this was an exception. Davy's nerves were running rampant. Peter read it all in his eyes, because Peter knew him better than anyone.

Peter gazed at him as Davy filed away furiously.

"I'm not trippin,' I'm just… apprehensive," Davy finally commented on Peter's exclamation.

"But you're so…'take charge.' I don't think I've ever seen you apprehensive," said Peter. "I didn't think you were capable of it."

Peter was right, thought Davy. He was letting this girl get to him. Not acceptable.

"She's special somehow, you know?" Davy was going to try to explain it to Peter, but he found the words wouldn't come to him.

"Give me some descriptive words for her," said Peter, eager to help Davy overcome his edginess.

"Well, she_ seems_ to be decent, modest, shy, and sweet. Not to mention pretty."

"All very good traits," said Peter, nodding his approval, his hair inevitably falling into his eyes.

* * *

Deanna got to the library a few minutes early. Actually, ten minutes early. She'd worn a pink short-sleeved shell top and matching cardigan and a not-quite-mini skirt. Her hair was held back with a thin bamboo colored band. It was early April, and still chilly, so she'd considered wearing slacks, but upon consulting Cassie, had decided not to.

"Deanna, you have really killer legs," Cassie had said. "Show them off! Show a lot of cleavage too!"

Deanna had just grinned. The skirt, yes. The cleavage, uh-uh. She wasn't _that _bold. A hint of cleavage was about as far as she went. She hadn't known what shoes to wear, since she had never stood beside him, and had no idea if she should wear high heels or not. She had finally decided on her pretty, strappy sandals with a one inch heel. She was only an inch over five feet, so she should be completely safe with that. She'd heard the lamentations of girls who had made the mistake of wearing high heels and ended up being taller than their dates. That could qualify for humiliation. When she'd looked at herself in the mirror, she felt she couldn't possibly look good enough to be going out with someone who made her heart thunder with just one glimpse.

She was halfway across the library parking lot, trying not to walk self-consciously when he drove up. It was rather dramatic. The car's motor growled and purred, tuned to perfection, its paint a bright red so shiny that it had to have been recently waxed. She wondered what he did to afford such a beautiful, sought-after car. The GTO was all the rage at the time, and this one was customized.

He stopped the car in the middle of the parking lot, left the motor running, and ran over to the passenger door to open it for her. When he reached her, she was glad she had decided against the high heels. He was barely taller than she was—nothing she'd ever run across before. But… at the same time, she _liked_ it. She'd always dated guys who were 5'9" or more, and she had grown tired of always having to look up to see their faces, and her neck would get sore when she had to crank it high when a guy kissed her, plus stand on her tip-toes. This guy was on her level, literally, and it seemed that hugging him would feel so good because their heights matched so nicely. The way he carried himself, though, you'd think he was over 6 foot.

She saw his eyes take her in appreciatively as she slid gracefully into the passenger seat. He closed the door, and she had a moment of panic. The air around her was running scarce. She didn't say a word to him, but as he went around to his side and slid in, closing the door, he scanned the rear view mirror to be sure no vehicle was behind him that he was blocking, and turned to her.

"We are going to the movie theater, I promise you," he said solemnly, his brown eyes drilling right through her.

Deanna was taken aback. "You can tell I suddenly got really scared?" she asked.

"Yes. And I understand why. You can follow me in your car to the theater if you have any reservations," he offered.

Deanna straightened her spine. "No, no… I believe you. Let's go."

So they roared off to the theater, which was only five minutes away. To her horror, she realized, at some point, that the raw power of the car's engine was affecting her like an aphrodisiac. Only when he pulled into one of the open parking spaces did she relax marginally. At least he hadn't taken her somewhere to rape her. It would have been easy enough to do. She pondered how amazing it was that he'd picked up on her pensiveness, and had thought to comfort her.

When they got out of the car, her eyes were pulled to him despite conscious effort to keep them diverted. He was wearing a black pullover sweater and black dress pants, along with the familiar boots. Wow— a man in black was enigmatic, and this one especially so. He had a sense of style; that was very perceptible by now. A simple gold chain hung around his neck in addition to the ever-present love beads. She'd noticed the lingering looks from other girls as he bought their tickets.

He took her hand to guide her to their seats, politely asking which aisle she would like. She preferred to be nearer to the back, and he led her through the dark as though he had night vision.

"What time does the movie start?" she asked when they sat down.

"Eight-fifteen," he said.

"Do you always gawk at girls before you ask them out?"

Her question didn't throw him. He didn't miss a beat with his answer either. "No, I usually walk right up to them."

"You didn't with me."

"No, because you had a guy with you most of those nights."

"He's just a friend."

"An awfully possessive friend."

"Maybe… I think he's more protective than anything. He did comment on how you were looking at me."

"I bet he did."

This was no time to discuss Derrick. Coming to the conclusion that she could no longer avoid it, she finally yielded to her desire to feast her eyes on this near-stranger, listen to his voice, enjoy his presence.

"We're here pretty early," Deanna consulted her watch. It was five minutes to eight.

"Well, I thought it would give us a little time to talk-get to know each other a little better. Not that I know hardly anything about you to begin with. You didn't want me to pick you up at your home," he said accusingly, but adding a smile to show her he was only teasing. He liked that though—evidently she wasn't the reckless type, wasn't going to give him her address and thus her trust too quickly. He sensed she didn't want him moving in too rapidly on her until she decided he was worthy of her trust. She was careful. He did like to know where he stood. It was better than guessing, and then being wrong.

"I've never gone out on a date with a guy I've met somewhere, like the library," she said.

"Then how do you ever date?"

"Well, if a friend introduced me to a guy… something like that."

She was fidgeting. So… she wasn't overly comfortable with dating; he could see that right from the start. Her voice was soft and melodious, not raspy, shrill or harsh like some girls, who looked pretty good—until they opened their mouths. His eyes flicked quickly to her clothes. Nice. She kept her legs neatly crossed, and she was bouncing her foot again. His surveying eyes must have set that off. Kind of like the way he wanted to bite his nails when he thought about taking her out, fighting that unwelcome surge of anxiety.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"Oh, well…I'm a single girl who lives in an apartment, taking a class at Malibu Community in Creative Writing. I'd love to be a writer one day," she blushed a delicate rosy shade. "And I also work at the library… during the daytime. I just stay after work when I research. So it's convenient. I stock shelves—you know, put books back after they've been returned, check books out to people, things like that," and she looked down almost as if ashamed.

Davy nodded. "I admire you for following your dream. I need to read more. I was astonished by all the books. It's been a while since I've been in a library. Embarrassing, but it's true. You see, before I saw you there, I was just returning my friend's book," he explained. "I think being a writer would be a fascinating thing to do."

"So you came back again after returning the book…"

"Well, yes, because I saw you there," he finished her sentence." "But the first night, our eyes met, remember? When I was in the book aisle. That was the night I returned the book –the first time I saw you." She nodded. How could she possibly forget? So Derrick had been right—Davy _hadn't _really been interested in the book he'd had before him.

"There was something about you that kept me coming back. You know, I waited until that guy wasn't with you so I could talk to you."

Deanna was flattered. A guy had never gone to that much trouble to meet her before. Guys had always been a dime a dozen to her, none being worth getting to know, but this one had something that was uncommon. What exactly it was though, she wasn't sure.

Deanna was sick and tired of the whole dating scene. Toxic relationships—if you even wanted to call them relationships. She'd never been in love—just in lust. Dating shallow guys, guys who lived on the edge. Guys who felt they needed to prove something. Jealousy intervening now and then. Staying up all night arguing bitterly. Razor sharp words followed by hot as hell make up sex. It was exhausting to the bone, draining the life from her. It had gone on long enough, and one day she'd just stopped dating. It just hadn't been worth what it did to her. Now she'd gone and accepted a date with someone who seemed too ultra smooth to be authentic. She knew he'd done it before, plenty of times. You could spot them a mile off, the ones who liked to add another notch to their bedposts. He had it written all over him. So why had she said she'd go to a movie with him? She was mystified, but also convinced it wasn't just his looks. Looks were superficial.

There was something to him that screamed _different._ He seemed to run deep. But then again, she was probably only fooling herself because he seemed too good to be true.

"Tell me about you now," she said, wanting the focus off her. She wasn't comfortable with it, and crawling out from under his stare was becoming more and more difficult. His eyes had a way of penetrating, and she found herself being irrational, imagining he could see her every thought.

He told her how he'd come to the U.S. from Manchester England, about the band he was in, about the guys, and the fact that they all lived together in a house they rented right on the beach in Malibu. _How fun,_ she thought to herself. She bet they had some pretty wild parties. She almost shuddered to think of what four young guys living together must be like though. Visions of piles of empty pizza boxes, socks flung everywhere, unmade beds, a sink heaped with dirty dishes, music blasting onto the beach loud enough for people to put their transistors away. Even so, how adventurous. That must be the way to live! She bet they wrung every last bit of risky undertakings they possibly could out of the perpetual sponge of life.

By now, the before-movie previews were beginning, so they sat back and watched.

"By the way," she whispered to him. "What movie are we seeing?" She felt like a dunce. Her thoughts had been so full of him that she hadn't even thought to ask.

She wished she hadn't leaned so close to his ear so as not to disturb the other movie-goers, because he smelled out of this world. Outdoorsy, not unlike an ocean breeze. A pang of the most powerful lust rose in her, making her suddenly realize how much she missed male attention. And one like Davy would fill that void very well.

_No, don't think about that!_

"The Trap," he answered. Oh yes… she'd asked him what movie they would be seeing.

"Oh! I've heard of it, and thought about seeing it!"

"I can't make any comments about it, as I haven't seen it myself. I have to apologize in advance if there's inappropriate content," a smile played with his lips, a sort of apology—just in case.

Davy was full of consternation that the movie might somehow not be suited to two young people on their first date. He feared something disturbing or repulsive or too sexual might pop up, but what could you do? He had no control over it. He'd simply read a couple of reviews in the newspaper, and decided it sounded like a movie a young woman might like, considering it revolved around a romance. Most every woman liked romance. Besides, a romantic movie sounded pretty good to him, too. He hoped it might be pivotal in getting her to want to get closer to him.

He'd gotten them a large popcorn to share, since she'd said she couldn't eat one by herself. Sharing it felt strangely intimate. They munched as they watched the movie. It was about about a trapper and a mute orphan girl who meet by chance, had hair raising adventures in the wilderness and eventually fell in love. Davy was relieved there were no parts that were overly disturbing or embarrassing. He felt it would have been a bad reflection on himself. The movie actually touched him, and he saw that it touched Deanna too.

When the trapper got caught in his own trap, Deanna had gasped, and without pausing to think about it, had naturally grabbed onto Davy's arm. It was cool in the theater, and his warmth seeped into her skin. As if knowing she was cold in addition to the suspense of the movie, he slipped his arm around her more naturally than anything she'd previously experienced. He hadn't even resorted to the old 'yawn and stretch' routine that so many guys practiced.

"Smooth," she whispered to him in a tone that was a little less tremulous now. Almost teasing. She wanted him to know she was on to him.

His lips lifted into a grin. "I try."

When the movie ended, he took her hand and led her quickly out of the building so they wouldn't get caught in in the crowd of people that were exiting. He gave no indication of letting go of her hand either, as they traversed the parking lot. His grip was firm, comforting.

When they reached the Monkeemobile, he stopped, and rested his back against it, still holding her hand as they stood, facing each other.

"I really dig your car. It's beautiful," she said.

"Oh, it's only part mine. It belongs to the four of us," said Davy, referring to his fellow band mates.

"I'll tell you something you might want to know if you'll tell me something I want to know," he said without preamble.

Her stomach flopped. Oh no. Is this where he was going to suggest something that would be way too premature? Ask her to come home with him? Just expect her to jump into bed with him? The way he'd worded it hadn't sounded very promising. And the romantic feeling was quickly fading. She felt like a flower that was wilting.

"If you're going to say anything like I'm thinking you are…"her voice had lost the soft quality, and he found himself grieving for it. It _had _come out sounding rather sinister, now that he thought about it.

"Wait! Wait…I didn't mean to sound like I expected…" Davy found himself seriously tongue-tied, and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened to him. "You're rather quick to judge," he finished lamely, but not offensively.

"Like you expected…?"

"Anything," he said simply. "I don't expect anything." He let that sink in for a moment. "What I was going to say was, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?" His chuckle/giggle combination made her feel guilty as sin. He was only being playful, and here she was, thinking he was going to try to lure her to his lair.

_Lure her to his lair!_

She began to laugh too, not only at what he'd said, but at what she'd thought. She just could not resist…"I thought you were going to try to lure me to your lair," she said, trying her best to look serious. There was a beat of silence, then their laughter ensued.

"I like that! Lure you to my lair!"

When the laughter died down, he bent at the waist, took her hand, and kissed the back of it, saying, "I'm Davy, or David, whichever you prefer, and I'm glad to meet you." Sincerity rang true, and she couldn't help being charmed.

The brush of his soft lips on her skin sent prickles of desire wafting through her like a gentle wave.

"Thank you, sir. I'm Deanna, and I'm very pleased to meet _you."_

"Deanna—I love your name."

Now, to get the attention off herself once again, purely because he was overly attendant. Or did it just feel that way because she was so taken with him? She was so overwhelmed that she wasn't really sure of _anything _anymore.

"You sing… I can't imagine that. You look more like you'd be a professional at some sport," and her eyes, against her will, ran over his arms, chest, abdomen again for about the fifth time that night. "Or maybe a sports instructor, or trainer, or whatever they are."

"Well, I do work at staying healthy. That is, except for all the hot dogs, soft drinks, fast food and pizza I devour with the guys." She'd been right. Bachelors and their typical fare.

"Come see us perform sometime," he said, his voice casual, belying how much it really meant to him.

"That sounds so groovy. Where do you perform?"

"Wherever we can get a gig. Don't have one lined up at the moment, but it won't be long," he said that with such confidence, such assurance. Here was a man who believed in himself, and she found it very becoming. An unwelcome vision came to her then, of the band not making it the way he dreamed it would, and she felt a sharp cramp of sadness. She wished him all the best—whether she ever saw him again or not.

"I can let you know when we land a gig. That is… if you want to give me your phone number, you know," he stuttered slightly, stunning himself because he didn't think he'd ever stumbled over his words with a girl before.

_Did she want to give him her phone number? Hell yes!_

But instead of losing her cool and hopping up and down in excitement the way she wanted to, she curbed herself, calmly extracted a piece of paper and pen from her purse.

"You said you usually go right up to girls," she commented as she handed him the scrap of paper.

He nodded.

"Well then, you must have had a lot of girlfriends." She was going to say _conquests,_ but that sounded offensive.

Davy shrugged a shoulder, not denying it and not admitting it.

"Lots of groupies?" she asked. She hated to drill him, but she had to know because the playboy type did not appeal to her. It was better to cut things off now if he was indeed that type.

He didn't want to deny it, as that was deceitful, yet he didn't want to alienate her. And he would _certainly_ do that, if he gave her any indication of how many girls he'd been with. Whether she was setting a trap or not didn't matter. He had to answer.

"There usually are groupies for bands that are halfway decent," he cast the words off as if they meant less than nothing.

"Do you go out with groupies?"

"I have, now and then. I don't want to be harsh or anything, but most of them are not the type of girl I look for."

"Do you see lots of girls at the same time?"

"Depends on the circumstances. If I'm seeing someone I really like, I keep it exclusive."

She smiled. "You sure do have all the right answers," she said, pure wonder coloring her words, as she marveled at how good he was at this mating game.

"I'm not making things up," his voice carried an ever so slight smudge of a shadow. It came to her that he felt a little insulted. She'd asked too many questions—she could see that now.

"I'm sorry… I'm just a bit intrigued with you… and your lifestyle." She crammed in the lifestyle part to try to make her attraction seem a little less obvious. Generalizing things in hopes he wouldn't see how enchanted she really was.

His hand tightened slightly on hers, and for a moment she thought he might pull her into him, but instead he walked her to the passenger door and opened it, handed her in, closed the door, then walked back around to his side, firing the engine up, and, oh God, there went that sweet vibration of the engine again.

When he dropped her off at her car, he noted it was an older Datsun, looking like it had seen better days. Single girl, juggling work and college, he thought to himself. Probably just getting by. He suddenly wished he could help her out somehow. But he knew a girl like her would have too much pride to accept charity. Well, that was the way _she _would see it, but he did sincerely like her, and would not have viewed it as charity.

There they stood, beside her car, Deanna getting ready to get in, and then suddenly not wanting to leave him. She couldn't slow her breathing down, couldn't banish the flush from her face.

She stammered. "Thank you, Davy. I…I had a good time. Please forgive me for being so nosy." Almost before the words tumbled out, he moved in, closing the foot of distance between them, kissing her cheek. His lips were warm, moist, causing shivers of delight to skate up and down her spine.

"You called me Davy," he said as he drew back. Now she was certain she couldn't breathe. An invisible, tight band stretched across her chest. So what if he was cute? He shouldn't be affecting her this strongly.

"Yes…do you mind?"

"No…no. The guys usually call me David; my stage name is Davy. It's just a stage name. But I love the way you say it." He lowered his head just a fraction and angled it slightly to look into her eyes, then he broke out the most dazzling smile. She felt a strange twinge in her heart. How she remained standing through the ensuing dizzy haze was a mystery.

"I enjoyed myself too, Deanna. It was smashing. And I do like your honesty. The questions didn't bother me."

He made sure she was securely in her car, locking the door for her before closing it. Somehow that made her feel warm inside, safe. As she drove away, she could see him in her rear view mirror. A shadow standing beside the sporty muscle car…watching her leave. She struggled to pry her gaze away from the image…but, helplessly, she continued to watch until he was swallowed up by the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Davy hadn't said a word about another date, or even about seeing her again—only mentioning a future gig. And even that had seemed rather vague. He said he'd call to let Deanna know when and where the gig would be, but nothing else.

So, here it was, three days later, and the phone had not rung. At least not with his voice on the other end of the line. Every time it did ring, it was as if an electric shock zapped her. She felt let down. Damn, she knew she shouldn't have gone out with him!

Deanna continued to work hard on her story, and she was certain she'd have it ready for submission by the following weekend. She was, however, pretending to still be researching at the library after work, drawing it out, even though no more research was necessary. The story was complete, and only needed polishing. She didn't want to face the fact that she was only doing it in hopes of seeing Davy. He, however, did not show up.

"So… did you have fun on your date last weekend?" Derrick had finally brought it up. She had known it was coming sooner or later, as she was getting to know him pretty well. He was easy to read.

"Yes, it was fine. Saw a movie," she said casually.

"Oh? What movie?"

"The Trap."

"Was it good?"

"Yes, very good."

She could tell he was dying to question her about it, and it was a good bet he wanted to know who the guy was, but there was no point in telling him, and then having Davy never show his face again. It would make her look pathetic. She admitted to herself it would be a nice surprise for Davy to show up here. But if Davy was not going to ask her out again, the thought of how fun it would be to have him show up suddenly didn't sound so fun anymore. She'd have to let Derrick know her research was finished, and stop staying after work.

She must have done something to turn Davy off. Probably the fact that she had acted so stiff and frigid. He probably thought she was a goody-two-shoes in the extreme. And a guy like that, being a musician, had to be used to wild girls who would arouse and excite him to ever new heights. She couldn't compete with that. Maybe it was just as well…

* * *

_Never call the girl right away. Always wait two or three days. That way, if she's at all interested, she'll be extra eager by then._ It makes you seem more mysterious, elusive, and that turned a lot of girls on. At least, that's what he'd heard. He'd never bothered to pay much attention to it, let alone practice it before, because there had never been a girl who he particularly cared enough for to practice it on. It had always been too easy to get laid, so why go to the extra trouble? Now things were evolving for him, or so it seemed. He was feeling a little different about this particular girl.

Well, it had been three days, and he was overflowing with restlessness, chomping at the bit, keen to hear her voice. And there was Peter, calmly sitting by, watching Davy fidget.

"Don't flip out, man," said Peter kindly.

"Is it that obvious?" Davy had no idea his state of mind had been so visible.

"Yeah. Just call her. You should have done it before this. You've hardly slept since you took her on that date."

"How do you know that?"

"I hear you tossing and turning in bed, sighing, moaning."

"Moaning? I didn't know I was moaning," then Davy's face flooded with hot, burning embarrassment. He must have moaned out loud when he was fantasizing about her, and Peter had heard. Well, fantasizing and touching himself, if the truth be known.

"Call her," insisted Peter sternly, putting on a tough façade as he left the living room and climbed the stairs to their bedroom to afford his friend privacy.

Davy jotted down a list of things he could say to her if things got hairy or went south. She was good at being silent. He already knew that. So best to be prepared. Then he boosted his courage with thoughts of how she'd grabbed his arm in the theater, and had not objected when he'd slid it around her. If a girl doesn't want that kind of contact, she sits forward—doesn't lean back into the arm as she had done.

After giving himself a mental pep talk, he at last dialed her number. Every time it rang, his nerves ran raw, thinking this would be the ring when she'd pick it up. But it just kept ringing and ringing, until, after fifteen times, he realized she either wasn't home, or wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. Not that he would have the courage to do it, but he couldn't even drop by her house to make sure she was okay. He had no idea where she lived.

The library! He slapped himself on the forehead. Of course! She might be working, or if she was already off, she might be researching for her story. He hadn't even thought of that. He should have asked her what her hours were. Even if he dropped by, and she wasn't there, he could ask another employee after her, and they would surely tell her he'd been by. He also had no idea what day or days she had school. Next time he saw her, he'd have to be a little more diligent, and find these things out.

Deanna had had today off, but she decided to go to the library anyway because she had told Derrick she would be there. She'd have to tell him tonight that she was done researching. She wasn't sure what his reaction would be. In a few weeks, they had spring break coming up, and she and Derrick had never hung out together except at the library. She wanted to remain friends with him, yet didn't want him to get the idea that she was interested in dating him. So it was a tricky undertaking. She had the feeling he was wanting to be more than friends. She'd never want to hurt his feelings, so maybe she'd ask him if he wanted to walk around the mall or something un-date-like.

She drove to the library, hoping that talking to Derrick would help her to unwind. Her muscles were tight, her thoughts racing. As she got out of her car, she heard a voice that was instantly familiar.

"So_ that's_ why you didn't answer your phone. You were on your way here." English accent. _Davy!_ He was just getting out of the Monkeemobile.

"Oh Davy, hi!" She released a genuine smile that made Davy's heart leap. "It's good to see you!" He looked divine. All the feelings came rushing back since she'd last seen him, every bit as powerful.

"I'm glad I thought to come here," he murmured as he got within a couple of feet of her. It happened naturally… so naturally that the thrilling feeling engulfed her and no other words needed to be said as he hugged her. For the first time. And it was just as she had dreamed it would be. Their bodies lined up perfectly. This was so worth waiting for. She'd hoped for at least a hug, if not a peck on the lips when he'd taken her back to her car the night of the movie, but he had known just how to whet her appetite. Now that she finally felt his arms wrapped around her, after all the fantasies she'd had about it, it was just that much sweeter.

The hug was almost needy—on both their parts. His warm, sea-breeze scent made her breathe him in deeply. She could feel his breathing coming fast and uneven. Since they were closest to her car, he backed her into it, the two of them giggling a little because they had to take at least fifteen steps backward. She felt his face in her hair, just under her ear, his breath tantalizing, beguiling as he entrapped her against her car.

"Ohh..." she said softly, the warmth in her belly fast starting to simmer. It made her ponder what the boiling point would feel like.

He drew back, and she very nearly fell into him. "Is this alright?" he asked in a voice that silently asked a million deeper, unspoken questions.

"Yes… " She knew her eyes must have looked like she was drugged, because they were heavy-lidded with desire. Pent up desire that had been smoldering for the last three days.

She never saw his lips coming, but they were promptly on hers. She closed her eyes, anxious, disquieted, butterflies writhing in her stomach. He was so gentle that at first, she actually wondered if it were really happening or not. His lips were so slow and sensual… they tested, provoked, and it was delicious. Little by little, he became more thorough. It was maddening. She felt the heat of his body as he held her extremely close. He deepened the kiss, but not by too much. He progressed in degrees. She wondered if he would devour her whole. He seemed to be getting ready to. She wouldn't mind a bit. He was adept—he kept it light, but not too light. Just enough promise to drive her to the brink of pleading with him to take ownership of her mouth.

Suddenly, the kiss was cut off abruptly. Deanna's eyes flew open, Davy no longer holding her, the warmth of his body torn away brutally. She opened her mouth to protest, and for a moment, couldn't grasp what was happening right in front of her eyes. A fist was connecting with Davy's jaw, and Davy was flung backward, almost toppling over, but being sure-footed mentally as well as physically, he caught himself, and, quick as ferret, he reacted, gripping the guy's shirt, yanking him forward with one hand, and with the other, he landed a hard right to the guy's nose. The guy collapsed down onto the pavement, Deanna looking on in horror, a second later, realizing it was… Derrick.

"Wassa matter with you?" Davy's voice, heavy with his native accent, as it always tended to be when his emotions ran high, and slightly slurred from the shock of the blow and the drug of the kiss, was directed at the guy who laid prone, not even attempting to get up. Derrick was on his back, chest heaving with the exertion when Davy realized who it was only a moment after she did.

"Derrick!" she cried. "Why did you do that?"

"Why… _why?_ " Derrick sounded incredulous. "The guy had you up against your car, trying to do…God knows what!"

"I was kissing her. And she wasn't protesting, if you had taken the time to notice," Davy was absolutely bristling. He had good reason to, figured Deanna. It must have been quite a shock to be grabbed, spun around, and sucker punched before he even had a chance to defend himself.

"You're a creep…" said Derrick a little more softly, his anger cooling a bit and being replaced with trepidation when he glimpsed the hard as flint look in Davy's eyes.

"No he's not, Derrick! He's the one I went on a date with last weekend!" Deanna knew she had to set things straight before any more violence occurred. Derrick looked at her in disbelief. He touched his nose experimentally, but it wasn't broken, just a bit bloody. Deanna handed him a tissue from her purse as he slowly rose.

"Sorry, man," he said to Davy. "I didn't realize…"

Davy was arrogant and closed off, a trait she hadn't seen in him before. She found it curious to see he'd shifted gears in an instant and had gone alpha. It was hot, in spite of the fear she still had of them going at it again. He looked so forbidding. He didn't touch his jaw, although Deanna could see where it was scraped and already starting to bruise.

"You don't go up to someone and pull a cheap shot like that," he said to Derrick. "You have to be more discerning, size up the situation first. You go around doing things like that, and you could find yourself really fu…, sorry, Deanna. You could find yourself really screwed up or dead."

"So you were kissing him back?" Derrick was purposely ignoring Davy, his eyes burning into Deanna's in disbelief.

"Yes, I was." Deanna felt herself grow bright red.

"But you said you didn't like him stalking you," Derrick protested.

"I got to know him a little one night when you weren't here, and he asked me out. He's a gentleman,"  
Deanna said in Davy's defense.

Davy had knocked his attitude back and relaxed some.

"You're lucky," he said to Derrick in a controlled, yet lethal way. "You're lucky I got control over myself."

Derrick had nothing to say, and the look of intimidation in his eyes told Davy all he needed to know. In the moments that ensued, Davy could see Derrick had all but ceased to be a menace.

"You gonna introduce us now?" Davy asked Deanna flippantly as he turned to her. She gasped, her mouth dropping open, and then she laughed out loud. Now _here _was a man with class! His unorthodox sense of humor wasn't lost on Derrick, who looked bewildered. Davy's take no shit attitude with the way he'd reacted and lashed back at Derrick with no fear had struck Deanna as oddly exciting. Stimulating even. And now he was making light of the situation. Her estimation of him rose several notches in that moment.

"Davy, this is Derrick. Derrick, this is Davy," she said, feeling strangely like she was in the Twilight Zone. "Are you okay? Your jaw isn't broken, is it?" she asked Davy.

"No," he said dismissively. "I can move it fine." His forbidding look told Deanna not to push it. He wasn't weak, and he didn't like being made to feel that way. He felt bad enough that the weasel had snuck up on him as it was. He had been so wrapped up in Deanna…

"I'm going home," announced Derrick, acute embarrassment becoming apparent. His apology had been reluctant, and Deanna knew why. He didn't trust Davy with her. Deanna felt bad for both of them. Derrick had been trying to protect her, and Davy was completely innocent.

After Derrick had driven off in his Volkswagon, Deanna turned to Davy.

"Davy, I'm so, so sorry that happened. He thought you were…"

"I know, Deanna, and it's not your fault, of course."

"Does your jaw hurt?"

Davy shrugged carelessly. "There's just a dull ache. I've been worse off."

"You fight regularly?" she asked.

"No. It's only if a guy really pushes me, or if he's getting fresh with a girl who isn't willing. That's why I went easy on…Derrick… is that his name?" he acted as if the name caused a slight bitterness on his tongue. "Anyway, I know how he must have felt. If I'd seen a guy who had you against a car like that, I might not have stopped to assess the situation either."

_This is the definition of a man_, thought Deanna. After being punched, he had lightened things up about not being introduced to Derrick, and now he had just admitted he would have reacted the same way Derrick had.

The incident had put a serious damper on the evening, and Deanna knew Davy's jaw had to be hurting, even though he refused to acknowledge it.

"I wanted to ask you to our gig this coming weekend," he said.

"I'll be there! Just call me and give me the address," she said.

"Would you like me to pick you up, or is it too soon?"

Deanna smiled. "Here's my address. Just let me know what day and time you'll be by to pick me up," she said as she scribbled her address on another piece of paper she fished out of her purse.

Davy wanted to kiss her again, but after what had just happened, he knew women well enough to know she was not likely to get back into the mood.

* * *

Riding over to the club with the guys was fun. She liked every one of them. Somehow she'd known she would. They were Davy's roommates, and she liked Davy, so she knew they couldn't be too bad. Unless Davy was doing a good job of hiding something, she felt sure they had to be decent people. And as it turned out, they were. Davy had come to her door, led her to the car and introduced the other Monkees. Right away, she could tell they were good friends as well as roommates and band mates. They were so varying in personality, with each one having a distinct character of his own. Peter was perky and bubbly, Micky was energetic, and Mike, well, Mike… he was kind of the odd man out. At first, she got the impression he didn't really fit into the group, but as she watched him, she realized he was not that unlike the others. He just was more reserved and distanced. Not for a moment though, did she doubt he took in everything that was said. He had appraised her too, as she had climbed into the car. She'd seen those dark eyes scouring her. Not in an unnerving way, but it was obvious he was observant.

"I really like your car," she said to the guys in general.

"Yeah, it's far-out, isn't it?" responded Micky. In looking at Micky, she felt he was the type that could stay up all night most nights of the week and have spunk to spare. His eyes blazed with a passion for adventure and she could see him loving the party scene. Peter was cute, sweet and polite.

Davy's jaw showed some bruising, but it wasn't as bad as Deanna had expected. "It was really more of a glancing blow," explained Davy. Or was he just playing tough? Hell, he didn't have to play tough. He_ was_ tough. She'd seen him in action.

She'd seen Derrick's cheek and the part of his nose that Davy had hit since that night too, and realized just how powerful Davy was. If the punch had landed directly on his nose, it surely would have been broken. As it was, Derrick's bruising was very prominent. Derrick was anything but thrilled with Davy's involvement with Deanna, but he was willing to stay by the sidelines, continue to be her friend anyway. That was loyalty, and Derrick and Deanna had discussed it when he came by the library earlier in the week to take her to lunch. Deanna had no doubt Derrick was sincere in his desire for a continuing friendship, but she did wonder if he also hung around, hoping she and Davy might stop seeing each other, and then the opportunity might come for him to take Davy's place. No way was Deanna going to hurt Derrick, though, by telling him she just didn't dig him in that way.

Deanna was not prepared for what she saw as they pulled in to the parking lot of the club. Davy had not told her the full extent of the band's popularity. Not by a long shot. He'd downplayed it—and it was pretty evident why he had. He hadn't wanted to scare the crap out of her.

When the Monkeemobile was spied by the girls, they all came running, hair flowing out behind them, smiles as big as Halloween pumpkins, and Deanna was shocked at the number of them. At least twenty. When she'd seen them milling around, she'd figured they'd just been waiting to get into the club, but it was soon clear they had been waiting for the Monkeemobile. She also heard the majority of them yelling Davy's name. There were some calling out the other guys' names, but Davy's name was most prominent.

She was instantly dismayed. How many of these very girls had he previously taken home with him? She tried to push it into the back of her mind, as it sickened her a little bit, but it already appeared Davy could plausibly have more admirers than he could bed in a lifetime. She'd had no idea…and it was on the edge of frightening. Some of the girls looked like they could easily cross the line to hysteria. All of them had one thing in common—a dreamy look in their eyes and an ardor that they weren't prudent enough to try to cover up.

Were the girls here because they liked the music, or was it the cute band members? Hell, she wasn't fooling herself for a minute. They were calling Davy's name, for God's sake! They might like the music, but their adoration for the Monkees, and Davy in particular was palpable, clear-cut.

"You never told me you guys were_ this_ popular!" she cried to Davy over the screaming of the girls as they stuck their faces right up to the windows, trying to get a glimpse of their idols. These girls were blindly treading on the borderline of excessiveness—that was Deanna's opinion. The guys were casual about it though. It dawned on Deanna that it was nothing new to them. A couple of bouncers nudged the girls back as the group carried their equipment into the building.

"I thought you guys had trouble getting gigs…" Deanna asked Davy in stunned disbelief after they were safely in the club. She'd had the impression they were semi-struggling with their musical career.

"Well, that's true, but it's because we're starting to get choosy. Now that we're getting more popular, we have the opportunity to get paid more, and we stay away from the seedy dives we sometimes had to perform in before… understand what I mean?"

Deanna nodded. This was a lot to take in. She should have known… he was a musician, displayed on a stage on a regular basis. It wouldn't take long for females to take notice, and for the word to spread….

These love-sick girls were disconcerting, not to mention disenchanting. Here Deanna thought she'd found this wonderful guy who was to be her closely guarded secret, and he was anything but… He was being actively worshipped by these girls. Who knew how long this had been going on…Deanna had been ignorant to think that at least some of his world hadn't noticed how special he was. But how could you not?

The bad feelings accumulated the more she thought of those girls, now in the audience, not moving a muscle, all their eyes fastened to the stage as the guys warmed up.

Once Deanna heard Davy sing, she could no longer think of him as anything_ but _a singer. It sounded like the first time he'd spoken to her at the library. Soft and sweet. His voice, Micky's Michael's and Peter's were so different, yet the harmony they created somehow united them, and the result was beautiful music. They sounded fantastic to her ears.

A certain percentage of her doubts about him and his intentions of being with hoards of women began to dissolve when she saw how serious he was about the music, and how he incorporated her right into the band's midst. And that was accomplished by an unfeigned look of affection directed her way now and then. Or was it her imagination?

As the night wore on and she'd had a few drinks, Deanna started to notice a disturbing trend. She was getting turned on to an excessive degree. Davy's spell began affecting her in a dangerous way. Lethal, even. He made her go all soft inside. She wanted him with a violence that was like a livewire whipping back and forth between them.

She was starting to sympathize with how the groupies felt. He cast a spell on the entire room. He had to know it but she doubted he realized to what extent. Deanna stayed suspended in a state of anticipation throughout their show. The members of the band took turns speaking through the microphone between songs. When Davy spoke the goose bumps raised on her arms, chills came over her, sparks sprinkled down her backbone. There was this unrelenting need for him. It was a knee-jerk reaction that she couldn't seem to control.

"She's so pretty, Jonesy!" declared Peter in a soft voice so as not to be overheard as they were getting the equipment ready to take back to the car at the end of the night. Peter took the liberty to hug Davy, which Davy didn't mind a bit. In fact… he'd always craved Peter's touch, whether it was their fingers accidentally touching when Peter handed him an object, the brush of Peter against him, as sometimes happened on a small stage, or, his favorite, a hug. "And she didn't take her eyes off you all night," added the blond, his voice richly genuine. Peter, his greatest ally.

"Thanks, Peter. She's a nice girl." Davy felt a little choked up, and wasn't sure why. Peter was always so full of emotion that it often spilled over to Davy. Sometimes like a tidal wave.

Deanna reminded herself to act as normal as she could as they piled into the Monkeemobile and sped off. She carefully adjusted her top for the third time that night so that not too much cleavage was showing. Davy would think her a real hussy if she let on what he did to her. She'd seem like one of those spacey air-heads that had awaited them outside, looking for an opening to pounce.

"Mind if I take the others home first?" asked Davy from behind the wheel. Deanna sat next to him, with the other guys in the back. He'd said it right in front of them, and Deanna couldn't snatch a single exemption out of thin air, so she merely smiled and nodded. She smiled at Peter's bright, mischievous face as he got out of the car once they were back at the Pad. He winked at Davy, and he'd thought she hadn't noticed it. But she had, and it served to make her even more quivery than she already was. She wondered if Davy and Peter had discussed her, and if Peter expected Davy to stay with her tonight.

"He's the cutest thing," said Deanna after Peter had shut the door and they had driven off again. She hadn't even thought about the impact that might make on Davy, and was instantly sorry, fearing Davy would think she was desirous of Peter.

"He can be awfully attractive, yes." Deanna had never heard a guy say something like that about another guy, but she didn't waste her time dwelling on it. She was just relieved he hadn't taken offense.

Deanna started to give him directions, then felt foolish when she remembered he'd picked her up. That was how out of sorts she was. Davy took her hand as they walked up to the doorstep.

"Now I know where you live," he said slyly, raising his eyebrows playfully.

"I don't mind. It was just that you were kind of ominous looking when you watched me at the library. Thank you for asking me to come with you guys tonight, Davy. You were fantastic. The whole band is fantastic." She struggled not to look away from his eyes, because they always seemed to be all-knowing. When she _did_ look, she thought she saw all kinds of thoughts swimming in them. She suddenly found herself in a dilemma. She'd be rude not to ask him in, but she didn't trust herself alone with him. Honestly. She was that hot for him. And the drinks she'd had just added to her already raging libido. She was a little tipsy, and she didn't want to appear loose. So here she was, stuck in the middle. Should she chance it, and just hope her shyness would rescue her from his charms?

He closed the gap between them, making her eyes widen, his cheek brushing hers, and hugged her close. _Perfect fit_ was all her mind was able to process. Well, only one other thing—his sexiness that didn't know when to quit.

"I'm glad you came too," he murmured into her hair. Her body sagged into him as if she were boneless, and it _wasn't _the booze. It was the drug-like effect he had on her. She straightened up abruptly, and Davy took heed by stepping back. She couldn't let herself appear to be easy. He'd no doubt seen too much of that already from other girls.

She was bashful about mentioning that all she had to drink in the apartment was orange juice, not having gone shopping yet this weekend, so she simply said, "Care to come in for some orange juice?"

"Only if it won't…trouble you."

"Oh, it's no trouble…"

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant it troubling you in a different way. You seem very ambivalent about how you feel about me."

Ambivalent! She almost laughed out loud. Oh, if only he knew how _un-_ambivalent she was! She was warring with herself inwardly, but never had there been a doubt about how drawn she was to him.

"No, come on in. That's not it at all. Let's sit and talk," she knew she'd get through this somehow, but it wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

Why was she so back-and-forth? Davy felt that he was always struggling for understanding of the female sex. She had asked him all about the groupies already, wanting to know if he dated them, how many girls he dated at one time, and a few other questions he couldn't recall, yet now, she was withdrawing into painful bashfulness again. Clearly, she was curious, so why was she clamming up now? She acted as if she was reluctant to even look at him. Like she'd been in the library. He was perplexed, and wasn't sure where to go from here.

"So… you lured me to your lair," he said, watching her eyes closely.

At first she looked more than jostled, then realized he was making a joke, not hinting at something. She giggled. So… the ice was broken. Or at least cracked.

They sipped their orange juice in solemn silence. He wanted to kiss her. God, how he wanted to kiss her. The last and only kiss hadn't turned out anywhere near what his hopes had been for, and that was a gross understatement. It had been viciously cut short, had scared the living daylights out of her. So he couldn't hazard trying again. Or should he? He wondered how traumatized she'd been by the whole experience that night.

She'd been so soft and pliant in his arms. She had responded to him a hundred times better than he would ever have thought. Had given him a glimpse at the passion that he knew was beneath her modest exterior. They had just been starting to really mesh when he'd been wrenched away wickedly. Just at their most vulnerable moment—their first kiss. That was just lousy, to use a term Peter was fond of.

She could feel herself vibrating—vibrating with want and need. She tried to convince herself it was only the drinks she'd had tonight, but couldn't fool even herself. She'd felt this same way the night he'd kissed her. The night Derrick had made everything go to pot. Hell, who was she fooling? All it took, really, was eye contact with Davy.

Davy knew how to take a hint. When their glasses were empty, he stood up.

"Thank you," he said. "And I'll be on my way now."

_Don't go!_ A siren went off in her head. Red flags, caution tapes. She'd certainly die tonight in her sleep if he didn't kiss her again.

"I'm sorry about what happened with Derrick the other night. I'm afraid it's coming between us."

Davy cleared his throat. "Not if we don't let it," Davy's instinct told him what her remark really meant. Behind her innocent words was a lot of information. She was within reach. She hadn't made a solitary physical move toward him all evening, but now he was getting her drift. She was attainable. For a kiss…just a kiss.

He stepped toward her; when he had gotten to his feet, she had too. His hands went to her arms, resting them lightly on her shoulders, and then sliding them from her shoulders to her elbows. She turned her head away, visibly trembling.

"Look at me?" His voice like velvet, the inquiry unassuming. His voice sounded very far away to her ears, like an echo. As soon as she turned her head to face him again, he placed both palms on her cheeks, peering intensely into her eyes. Oh God.

Her breath hitched, sensual spirals corkscrewing in her lower abdomen. He was getting nearer in increments. Both in mind and body. She watched his face advance in slow motion. She kept her lips closed and shut her eyes. This was so awkward. She hated first kisses, but with Davy… well, it mattered so much that she was afraid of making some fatal mistake.

She was special, and he was going to let her know it. She wasn't a groupie. He knew she was worried about that. So he'd show her how extraordinary she was. So he kissed her, lightly, like a feather at first, then teased, tantalized, deepened it a bit, then backed off, only to start all over again. Each kiss was a little more involved, asking for just a little bit more, until she was lost. That's what he wanted. He was going to make himself unforgettable. So he went on teasing, enticing, working it into a near frenzy, then stopped briefly until she sought his lips again. He wanted her to seek it. It was true he knew all the tricks of the trade, but the difference was in that this time it really mattered. It was like their first kiss, since the one at the library didn't count. For this one, there would be no one to interject, no one to steal it from them.

A long time elapsed. Never had Deanna been kissed like this before. Her head was whirling. All the sensations, a very brief, taunting taste of his tongue. An unfettered moan from him almost knocked her out cold. It staggered her. Oh man, oh man. And it didn't stop…

He was devouring her mouth with his own. Drinking her in, making love to her using only his mouth and hers. One of his hands was on her lower back, and he slid the other one that was still on her face, to her neck, wrapping his fingers around it, fondling, caressing. Testing her trust. And getting it. She felt his heat and his insistent hardness against her pubic bone, his jagged breathing becoming rougher by the moment.

Her own incoherent moan slipped out and was caught up in the kiss.

_He's treating kissing like foreplay._

She hadn't known it was possible to draw it out like he did. Kissing was an intimate thing, but the way he kissed eclipsed intimate. It went into another realm.

Then she made the mistake of wondering how many of those girls at the club had sampled this exquisite talent of his. She felt a little queasy, and retreated, ducking out of his arms, pretending to be overcome with his sweet poison. That wasn't a difficult thing to do, as she really _was_ overcome. But the notion of him kissing anyone else the way he'd just kissed her was just too disturbing to entertain. And so, without meaning to, she left him a little nonplussed.

He moved to leave then, dignity barely intact, figuring he'd caused enough damage without staying around any longer and subjecting himself to more temptation. Temptation that ached…

"I didn't mean to come on so strong," he said. He kissed her cheek, bid her good night, and was out the door. Once again, he hadn't mentioned seeing her again. Deanna sighed, then flopped down on the couch and closed her eyes so she could savor that kiss again in her mind… over and over.

Davy got home, and glumly headed for the stairs, his step heavy. He still wasn't sure if Deanna was upset with him or turned on by him. Or both. He was in no way in a mood to talk.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you back here tonight," said Micky from the vicinity of the kitchen. Davy made a _hrump _noise, but nothing more.

"Didn't get it on, huh?" Micky was hot on the trail to getting the scoop. "Didn't sock it to her?"

Davy continued to ignore him, and trudged up the stairs with his thoughts, ignoring Micky's effort to extract the information from him.

"Not even a hand job?" was the last thing Davy heard from Micky as he closed the bedroom door briskly behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A great big thank you to my two new reviewers. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!**

* * *

Peter lay on his back on his bed, band clothes still on, and the light still burning.

"What're you doing still up?" asked Davy as he began to undress.

"Oh, couldn't sleep. Just waiting for you to come home," was the bassist's answer.

"It's late! And how did you know I'd be coming home tonight?" Peter knew him so well, Davy mused to himself.

"Oh, I knew it from the way you act around Deanna. She's different—not like the others." Yep, Peter had him pegged. "You'd want to go real slow and easy," added Peter.

"Sometimes it's as if you actually live my life," chuckled Davy. "You know what I'm gonna do before I do. What did the other guys say about Deanna?"

"Oh, they think she's cute, and sweet. They definitely approve." Peter had moved over to Davy's bed as Davy sat there in his underwear, and he sat beside him, fingers deftly touching the bruise on Davy's jaw. Davy held his ground, an easy thing to do. His skin tingled where Peter touched him so tenderly. Pleasant was a mild word for it.

"You say the other guy has a worse bruise?" asked Peter.

"Yeah. So Deanna says. I just saw blood on his nose. I didn't care to pay much attention-couldn't be arsed."

"You're resilient, man. Seasoned," observed Peter.

"I had to be, growing up always being the smallest one in my class at school...and still... the smallest one."

"Not with _those_ muscles," Peter smiled, trying to shroud how strongly he felt about Davy. "But you never let it get you down, that's what grabs me. You go for whatever the circumstances call for, and you don't look back." One could see the admiration shining bright in Peter's hazel eyes. Right along with the fondness that overcame him when he and Davy shared these moments, as they often did, on Davy's bed. They'd laughed together, cried together during really hard times when they couldn't get a gig, shared stories about their childhoods and most of all, connected on a unusually deep level.

Peter had moved behind him now, moving to massage his shoulders. Davy leaned back and relaxed into Peter's touch, afraid he'd stop. "Feels good, Pete."

He had no idea why he and Peter were so close, apart from Peter being about the easiest person to like Davy had ever known. Davy's temper did get the best of him now and then, and when that happened he could be impatient and curt with people, not to mention blunt, and while others might take offense, Peter never had. He knew what to do. He would just stand by and wait until Davy was in a better mood, instead of pushing him to talk the way the others sometimes did. Peter knew just when to talk, and just when to keep his trap shut.

Peter was glad for the excuse to touch Davy, but feeling guilty at the same time. Davy had a girl he was interested in. He, Peter, shouldn't really be indulging himself by feeling Davy's body under his hands when the girl should be having that privilege. But they'd always done this, so he supposed it wouldn't hinder Davy's new relationship. Davy still liked girls… a lot.

Davy's warm, supple body against his, and it didn't take long for Peter to feel his cock start to harden. _Shit._ This situation was more than iffy. He couldn't predict how Davy would react to something like that. He might be horrified, or he might just shrug his shoulders and tell Peter it was a natural thing, and not to worry about it. But Peter knew one thing for sure—Davy would never judge him harshly.

Regardless, Peter wanted to hold on to their rare, very close male relationship. Not at any price did he ever want to lose Davy. So he shifted slightly, adjusting himself quickly with one hand as he continued to rub Davy's shoulders. Davy was becoming so relaxed that he was resting fully back on Peter, the back of his head nestled under Peter's chin as Peter worked his biceps, Peter's legs stretched out on either side of him.

Peter was good at massage. Davy could practically fall asleep when Peter did this. But not quite, because it felt a little _too_ good. Good enough to keep him awake. And feeling better all the time… Hell, good enough to give him a hard-on. He angled his head down slightly to see how obvious it was through his underwear. Obvious enough.

Disturbed, Davy spoke up in a clipped tone. "That was good, Peter. Thanks." Davy heaved himself off the bed in a silent signal for Peter to go back to his own. Peter got an unintentional sighting of Davy's erection tenting his underwear before Davy dove under the covers, an avoidance maneuver Davy sometimes resorted to when perturbed or embarrassed. He bet Davy wasn't even aware that hiding under the covers was now a reflex action, and much more than that, Peter knew all Davy's quirks and vagaries. There really wasn't much Davy could gloss over or get away with, and that was why Peter knew Davy better than anyone.

* * *

Deanna was going over to Cassie's condo for the day. This spring day was bright and beautiful, and spring break was now only two weeks away. She hoped the weather stayed warm, just like this; but in California, you could usually count on sunshine. She wanted to be outside a lot over spring break. She wasn't sure what she would be doing, but she wanted to be sure she made good use of it and didn't get bored.

The phone rang just as she was crossing the living room to the door. _Davy. I wonder if it's him?_

It was.

"Wanna do something on the beach?" he asked. Deanna lived further inland. Only by fifteen minutes, but he doubted she spent as much time on the beach as he did. He lived literally right on the beach, so he took it for granted, and he hoped it was just a little more of a novelty for her. Enough to entice her to let him fetch her and bring her back here to the beach with him. It was a good starting point for a phone conversation, anyway. He was rattled with himself for still being nervous when he called her. He was leery of any lingering bad feelings on her part about last night, and the way she'd pulled away from his kiss, even though they'd been kissing for at least fifteen minutes before that. Maybe she'd gotten as aroused as he had? And wasn't sure what to do with it?

"Oh, I'm sorry Davy. I'm going over to Cassie's house. She's a friend of mine. We were planning on spending the day together."

"Oh well…" Davy couldn't help but be disappointed. "What days do you work and go to school so I can write it down?" he asked before they ended the call.

"Okay, got it," he said as he finished jotting it down. "I guess I'll go bug Mike. Bye."

_Bug Mike?_ Why would he do that when he lived on the beach? He could be swimming, surfing, lying in the sun, or playing volleyball, and he was going to go bug Mike? In thinking about it though, Mike would be a good candidate for the guys to pick on, since he was the most serious. She shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't going to cancel her plans with Cassie like she knew other girls sometimes did if a guy they liked called. They would instantly put their world on hold for a man. Not Deanna. She disdained that, feeling it was fickle behavior. If Davy was interested, he'd call again.

* * *

Davy was creeping up behind Mike, managing to remain completely silent, like a cat on the prowl, acting on a rare streak of boldness. Mike didn't care for being bugged. They all knew it. The guys wrestled a lot, but Mike didn't like to join in, and they usually left him alone… except for when someone was up for a challenge. Davy felt lucky today.

Peter and Micky watched, engrossed, as Davy worked his way ever so slowly to Mike's back as the tall Texan sat on the couch, then tapped him on the shoulder and leaped back. Mike was long, lanky, and almost gave the impression he was lazy, as he was usually slow moving. And slow talking. A slow, take-your-time Texan. But he was also deceiving. The second time Davy tapped him, Mike's arm shot out like a lightning bolt, capturing Davy's wrist in an iron grip. Davy, giggling uncontrollably, jerked and thrashed around like a fish on a line, but Mike's hold was secure. A full ten minutes elapsed before Davy was finally able to yank free by pretending to give up, waiting for the right moment, and then tugging unexpectedly hard. Mike, caught off guard, lost his grip. It sent Davy flying backward, his butt sliding a few feet on the floor. Great. Now he'd have floor burn. He wondered which was worse—floor burn or rug burn. Mike had managed to retain his calm, cool poker face for the duration.

Micky was always up for the poking game, but Micky tired everyone out, even Davy, and Davy wasn't about to touch Peter, after the effect he'd had on him last night… or rather, early this morning after they'd gotten home from the club. So that was the extent of the poking game for today.

* * *

Cassie eyed Deanna as her friend walked into her condo.

"You look oversexed," she observed, hands on her hips.

Deanna laughed. "I do?"

"Yes. Did anything happen?" Cassie was all ears.

"No, we just kissed. But man, what a kisser!"

"That's why you look oversexed," observed Cassie, nodding sagely.

They spent the day sitting in Cassie's little courtyard, talking about the Monkees, their music, and discussing Deanna's story for school.

"It's just a short story," she explained when Cassie inquired. "A romantic story, of course."

"Of course! What else?" Cassie was well aware of how romantic a person Deanna was. She thrived on it, not able to go for more than a day without having her nose buried in a romance novel. And this Davy… well, it sounded like he really tickled her fancy. A master kisser—why couldn't Cassie find one of those? One who didn't try to get in her pants or under her skirt on the first or second date?

"So this Davy really isn't a half-assed kind of person, is he?" asked Cassie after listening with bated breath about the fight between Derrick and Davy. She looked entranced. It was almost comical.

"No, he's gallant, and… well, I know I've been gushing about him all day. You must be getting really burned out on it."

"Burned out on it? Are you kidding? It's better than a soap opera. It's like a romance story with that extra touch of spice. That element of suspense… what will happen next? I don't see how you stopped yourself from dragging him to bed."

Cassie meshed well with the upcoming hippie movement. She had no qualms about messing around with a lot of guys. She was a "free spirit." She didn't wear a bra or panties, she was open about sex, whether it was talking about it or doing it. She liked the idea of commune living, brightly colored clothes, fringed leather vests, even meditation.

She and Deanna were quite different, but, Deanna figured it must really be true that opposites attract, because they were the best of friends, even though Cassie sometimes embarrassed Deanna to a degree with her free and easy attitude.

"Well if he kisses like you say he does, there's no doubt in my mind he'll be a bitchin' lover," said Cassie around the time Deanna was preparing to leave. Contemplating it, Deanna knew her friend was right. Odds were, Davy would be as thorough and sensual a lover as he was a kisser. Just thinking about it made her itch to have him over tonight. She wouldn't make love with him yet, but she also didn't know how much longer she'd be able to resist him. She'd had to tear herself away from him last time as it was.

But he didn't call that night. Saturday night—she wondered what he was doing. He couldn't be just sitting at home. That wasn't fathomable, and she found herself feeling that little stab of jealousy again.

The next morning, Deanna was feeling ambivalent about seeing Davy again. And the more she thought about it, the more she wondered why he'd called her yesterday if he really did date as many girls as she suspected he did. After more introspection, she then started wondering if he was only pursuing her because he hadn't gotten into her pants yet. That old challenge that men couldn't resist. After they'd finally gotten to you, and taken you to bed, they cheerfully went on their merry way, determined to break more hearts.

But in the same breath, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was sincere, making it so damn tempting to call him. She hadn't called him at all yet, but the slip of paper with his number on it was snug as a bug in a drawer, just waiting to be utilized. It called to her. How dumb was that? Spontaneously, she shocked herself by opening the drawer, removing the paper, laying it on the table, and tenderly tracing the number he'd scrawled with her finger, as if the numbers were somehow attached to him, his body. The same tender way she'd like to touch his face. _Ridiculous,_ she told herself. _Sickening._ Sounded like one of her romance novels that she couldn't seem to stay away from.

Then, just as spontaneously, she snatched the paper up and strode to the phone in a few quick sweeping strides. Before she could second guess herself, she was dialing his number. Her pulse pounded as she listened to it ring.

Someone answered, and she didn't know who it was. No British accent, so it wasn't Davy, and just a "hello" wasn't enough to go on. She didn't want to be rude by bluntly asking for Davy, because she knew the others now- she felt she should greet them, so she was stumped for a moment.

"Micky? Mike? Peter?" she said in fast succession, aiming at injecting some humor. "This is Deanna."

"Oh, hi Deanna! It's Peter." That was good. Peter was super friendly, so she took that as a good omen.

"How are you?" she asked politely.

"I'm fantastic, how are you?" he said enthusiastically.

"Oh, I couldn't be better. Any chance Davy is around?"

"Sure, let me call him," Peter's voice took on a low, booming quality as he called up the stairs.

"David! Deanna is on the phone!"

It seemed like five seconds, and Davy was on the line. She couldn't imagine how he had gotten to the phone so quickly, and asked him about it.

"Oh, I slid down the banister," he said. "I was excited when Peter said it was you on the phone," then he coughed, and Deanna suspected it was not a real cough, but a fake cough born out of embarrassment because he hadn't meant to mention being so eager to talk to her.

"Oh, well, I felt bad about yesterday. I was just wondering what you're doing today, and if you might like to do something… if you're free?"

"Let me ask the boss," said Davy, a tinge of humor coloring his voice. He put his hand over the receiver, and Deanna couldn't hear the brief conversation, but he explained after he had finished the exchange.

"I asked Mike about practice, and we aren't going to today. Hey, I was thinking last night. Would you like to go to the mountains today? I mean, the beach is always here, but the mountains are kind of special."

Deanna was pleased. "That sounds good. I'll pack us a lunch."

"Okay, I'll bring something too. What time do you want me there?" asked Davy.

"Oh, maybe around noon?"

"Okay, I'll be 'round about noon."

It was ten o'clock, so that would give her plenty of time to get as gorgeous as she possibly could for him. She decided on a tank top with spaghetti straps, racer back style, with a floral print mesh overlay, and white shorts that weren't quite brief and tight enough to be Hot Pants, but they weren't far off. She kept hearing Cassie's voice in her head to wear something Davy would find tempting.

Happy with what she saw in the mirror, she added a single strand of pink love beads with matching earrings. Putting her hair into a high ponytail gave her the look she wanted. Casual, yet classy.

He came to her door wearing a khaki shirt with the two top buttons left undone, and jeans that fit as if they had been tailored just for him. Her mouth dropped open; she quickly shut it, acting as if she had just been taking a deep breath. Actually, she had—it had been an "almost" gasp that had been barely compressed in time. Hopefully he hadn't noticed. She imagined the mortification of him knowing how she'd been openly lusting after him.

"Wow, you're a sight to behold," he said, taking in every inch of her before he realized what he was very nearly gawking.

"Thank you," her eyes were downcast now, and once again, he wasn't sure where he stood.

"Hey, mind if we go to Mount Baldy? It's my favorite place. Really peaceful."

"Sure, I'm up for that!" They put her picnic basket into the Monkeemobile, and she saw he had brought drinks and fruit. Apples, peaches, bananas and pears.

"Wow, we're going to have a feast!" she cried, having trouble getting the fruit stuffed into the picnic basket. She'd brought cold cuts of ham and chicken, because she wasn't sure which he preferred, some chips, and macaroni salad that was always good for a picnic. Good thing she'd gone shopping after she'd come home from Cassie's yesterday.

The driving time seemed to fly by, even though it took over an hour to get there. They lowered the top on the GTO, sang along to the radio and let the wind whip through their hair, feeling carefree. Deanna got a kick out of the fact that Davy sang on key when most of the other guys she'd dated had been hopelessly off-pitch. He was a singer, after all. They got their share of stares from people who envied the car, and even more stares from people who appreciated the handsome young couple_ in_ the car.

As they started to ascend toward the mountains, the car's powerful engine rumbled and roared, Deanna taking joy in the fact that she was here right now, sitting next to Davy in the car, and she soaked it up happily, feeling sanguine.

Davy took her to the place he had spoken of, not far from the foot of Mt. Baldy. Deanna had never been here before. Davy carried the picnic basket while Deanna carried the quart of lemonade.

"I want you to know that I haven't ever brought a girl here. I usually come by myself… to think, reflect, you know? Micky and Peter have come with me a handful of times," he said as they walked. _Well, if he's telling the truth, that's flattering,_ she thought.

"Mike never came?" she asked.

"No, Mike's funny. He's not into mountain streams."

Streams? She didn't see any streams. Davy hadn't been kidding when he'd said the place was peaceful. It was also gorgeous- an amazing retreat. As they walked, Deanna heard the rush of the stream as they neared it, realizing it was concealed behind the trees. Suddenly, it seemed to pop out at them, its serene, gentle, yet energetic flow beckoning to them, enchanting Deanna in a heartbeat. The stream itself was only a few paces wide in most places, a little wider in others. The water was crystal clear. Huge oak and bay trees offered plenty of shade, and rocks of all sizes and shapes abounded. Some of the rocks were five feet high or more, and some had smooth table tops. They chose such a rock that was a foot or so above the stream, wading out to it by way of the smaller rocks, Davy holding her hand to steady her. As soon as they reached the rock, Deanna sat down, slipped her sandals off and dipped her toes into the water, enjoying this ethereal moment. Below the rock was a quieter pool, its flow buffered by larger rocks. In some places the stream ran faster. One side of the rock admitted sunshine, the other side, shade. Plenty of room to stretch out comfortably, with room to spare for the picnic basket. Just across the road was another part of the stream, and over the shoulder were the gorgeous and huge peaks of Mt. Baldy. It was like a paradise, and Deanna marveled that so few people were around. The stream was deep enough to wade in, but the rocks were too abundant to allow actual swimming.

"It's beautiful here," she said with reverence. Davy sat down beside her, casually taking her hand and holding it as they sat.

It was so soothing, listening to the calming rush of the water and the birds in the trees, and no one to encroach on their self-sequestered privacy. Davy sitting beside her, his hair tousled from the ride with the car's top down, looking sexier than hell, and it was with difficulty that she pulled her eyes away from him. Then he stood up and nonchalantly removed his shirt, shoes, socks, and then pants, and she watched, speechless, until she saw he was wearing red swim trunks underneath. Tight ones.

Trying to keep from staring was the hardest part. His legs were as muscled and fit as the rest of him, and just as tan.

"I should have told you to bring a swim suit," he said. "I forgot."

"Just being here is plenty enough," she assured him. "I had no idea a place like this, so close, even existed."

"Well, in time I'm sure more people will discover it, as it's not exactly hidden once you get to the trees, but maybe people prefer parking themselves in front of the telly on a lazy Sunday afternoon."

Deanna loved it when he used British terms. "I like that—telly," she said.

"Yes… I'm afraid I slip quite often and use terms Americans aren't very familiar with," he said.

"I like it, and I hope you don't stop doing it."

"I'm sure time will take a lot of it away, as well as my accent," he said.

That made her a little sad. She would never want that to happen. The accent was part of Davy himself.

"You went to a friend's house yesterday?" asked Davy.

"Yes, Cassie. We've been friends for years. I was happy to hear your voice when you called, but our plans had already been made," she explained.

"You were? Happy to hear my voice?" his brown eyes glittered a little. "I thought maybe I did something wrong Friday night…"

"No… no, you didn't do anything wrong. I just… well, I need to be honest. I got to thinking about… all those girls outside the club, and wondered…"

Gently, he coaxed her to look at him with a gentle hand on her opposite cheek.

"Remember I told you I don't go for groupies? Believe me, you're in a class by yourself. You're nothing like them. I also remember telling you I don't date more than one girl at a time."

"Depending on the circumstances is what you said," she said, reminding him of his words verbatim.

Davy was thrown off for a few seconds. She was really on the ball, and he was impressed. She must be _somewhat_ interested in him to remember that. "Well, I'm not dating anyone right now, just so you know…" He didn't want to say dating anyone _else _right now, because he wasn't sure they were even dating.

"Why?" her question caught him off guard. He pondered it for just a moment as he splashed a foot lazily in the cool water. "I don't want to… no desire to."

Well, she didn't know how to take that. He was so vague, but she did have a clue that he didn't want to venture forth and say the wrong thing. After the way she'd acted Friday night, and not explaining the "why" to him, she could understand his reluctance.

"Well, that was why I acted the way I did. I was imagining… a little too much, and it upset me."

_He'd said if he was dating someone he particularly liked, that he kept it exclusive._ Those words were burned into her brain. She wouldn't say that out loud, however. Well, if what he said was true, that he wasn't dating anyone right now, did he consider her a date?

"I was typical for a guy in his twenties, a little wild, but that gets old real quick," and that was all he dared tell her about his past dating life.

Davy reached back and pulled a comb out of his pants that were draped on the rock behind him, and ran it through his hair. Mesmerized, she watched as if she were starving, with a steak dinner sitting right in front of her. Deanna realized, with her long hair, that she must look even more tousled than he did, so she graciously accepted his offer of the comb when he was done. She took her ponytail down, combed her hair, and was preparing to secure the ponytail again when he stilled her hands.

"Please leave it that way?" he asked softly. It felt intimate, as did sharing a comb. She left her hair down.

"So, I want to know all about you," he said, reclaiming her hand. I told you about me the night we saw the movie, but since then we haven't had enough time alone for me to inquire about you." Then he remembered the time they'd spent kissing, and he felt like he'd not shown enough interest in her life.

"But I did tell you about me—you _did _ask, remember? Well, there's not much more than what I told you. I'm an only child, and my mom lives in San Clemente. My dad died a few years back." She rushed on so he wouldn't question her about her father's death. "My mother is a little overprotective. She likes to bring food and stock my cupboards when she visits," Deanna smiled fondly. "I moved back to Malibu when I was eighteen because I grew up near there, but not as close to the beach as you. My parents had always wanted to live closer to the beach…particularly San Clemente, especially my mother. She finally got her wish a year before my dad died. She has a very nice home less than a quarter mile from San Clemente beach. I already told you the rest—just that I'm a working girl going to college part time, and want to be a writer. It's not very exciting."

"I find it fascinating. You prefer to be in the area you grew up?" asked Davy.

"Yes, I feel _safe _here. It gives me comfort. And San Clemente is kind of… well, how do I say it? More of a retirement town."

"Not too much to do?" he asked softly.

"Yes, that's it. Kind of slow paced and boring for a younger person. You haven't told me about your family."

"Well, I have three sisters and a father. My mother died when I was fourteen. I developed an interest in horses and exercised them at the race track for a while. Even thought about being a jockey someday. I went so far as to apprentice for a while, but the U.S., and especially California, was my dream. I didn't really want to stay in England. It's so foggy and damp…California sounded like just what I was looking for. So I walked away from jockey training and came out here, met the other guys, and we formed a band. That's the short version of it," he smiled.

"So you love animals in general, or just horses?" she asked.

"All animals," he confirmed. "And I bet you do too."

"How did you know?"

"Because you're kind, sweet and caring. That kind of person usually has a soft spot for animals, and kids too." Deanna nodded her agreement.

"So…" he went on. " I haven't asked, and I'm sorry, but did you finish your story, and did it come out the way you wanted it to?"

"It was fair, for my first try," she said. "I'll be getting a grade on it soon."

"Can I read it sometime?" This shocked her.

"It's romance!" she said, laughing.

"Who says a guy can't read a romance? He asked. "I don't ordinarily, but I would read yours," he added, somewhat bashfully.

Indeed, he was unusual! For some reason, his statement made her feel a bit euphoric.

"We both like reading—I'm reading a lot these days by the way; we both like animals and kids… we both like rock 'n roll and muscle cars. It's a starting point, yeah?"

"How did you know I like muscle cars—besides yours, that is?"

"I can't explain it really. Just the look on your face when you hear the engine start up." She sure hoped he didn't know how the sound of the engine almost aroused her. Who would understand that when she, herself couldn't?

"I suppose you love the water, living right on the beach too," said Deanna.

"Love it. Love swimming and anything to do with water. You too?"

"Yep. If I could, I'd spend a lot of time in the water."

"So there's another thing we share a love for," Davy looked pleased. "Want to enjoy it right now?" and Davy jumped down into the water, holding his arms out for her.

"But I didn't bring a suit!" she protested.

"You'll dry in no time in the sun," was his answer. "No one's nearby anyway."

She had reservations—big ones. But oh hell, why not? She wasn't wearing a bra under her tank top, and she knew her wet clothes would stick to her, but how often do you have a hunk waiting for you to join him in the cool, sparkling water in the mountains on a lovely spring day? Was she stupid enough to turn him down? Not hardly. She'd worry about repercussions, i.e., wet clothes, later. It was time to stop being so prissy and prim, and start showing him she really _could_ cut loose and have a good time.

In the next moment, she was in the water, Davy's arms holding her in tight to him. She was shocked by how cool the water was. Not overly cold—but certainly refreshing. He let her go and squatted down so that only his head was above water.

"Don't worry, I won't dunk you. I know women don't like that," he commented as she did the same. They frolicked in the water for a while, then Davy helped her back onto the rock. She looked down at her top, saw her nipples clearly outlined under the thin fabric. As for her shorts—they were white, and her bikini underwear was prominent through the material. Her face flushed, her cheeks flaming pink.

Not being able to do anything else, she laid on her back on the sunny side of the rock and hoped her clothes would dry soon. Davy laid next to her, halfway in the shade.

"Scoot closer," she said. "You're not fully in the sun." Well, that was not something he was going to argue about. He was soon so close, his side was touching hers.

"Ouch," he said, adjusting his butt on the rock. "I did the poking game with Mike and got a butt burn."

"Poking game? Butt burn?"

"Yeah, you sneak up behind him and poke him, then try to get away before he grabs you."

"Did he grab you?"

"Yep, the second time I wasn't quick enough and he got me. He's fast when it suits him. When I finally got loose, I fell backward on the floor and slipped on my butt. It wasn't pretty. Floor butt burn."

Deanna laughed, trying to picture in her mind what that must have looked like.

"What about Derrick?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"What about him?" she echoed back.

"Will he cause any more trouble?"

"He has no right to. He knows I went out with you," Deanna was a little concerned about Derrick too, but didn't articulate that to Davy.

"Is he around a lot?" Davy was trying to diplomatically find out just how often Deanna saw the guy.

"Oh, we go places together now and then. And we see each other at school, since we're in the same class. But I don't know if I want to do anything he might consider a date. He doesn't even know where I live. We just meet somewhere occasionally."

"So you're strictly friends? Never have dated?"

"Yes, just friends. And we've only known each other about a month."

That gave Davy some consolation. Sounded like Derrick would leave them alone, as he had no hold on Deanna. But it didn't mean he had to like Davy, and Davy felt a little sorry for that.

She looked over at Davy just in time to see him yank his eyes back up to her face. He'd been looking at her top- in other words, her nipples. To battle her acute embarrassment, she said, "I shouldn't have worn a tank top. I see it was a big mistake."

He blushed. "You caught me. Okay, but I'm only human. A _male _human. Just think of me, in these skimpy trunks. Not exactly covered up either. So we're about even, you know?"

In truth, she had been too leery to look down there, for fear he'd catch her. She laughed.

His eyes met hers, and if eyes could caress, his did. How did he do it? Be so beautiful without being feminine?

Davy suddenly shifted. Oh God, no! He felt himself thickening—a result of seeing her nipples, and then mentioning how he was, in a way, exposed himself. It had gotten his brain on the wrong track.

Then Deanna saved the day by mentioning spring break, helping to distract him. "It's only two weeks away. I get three weeks off," she said.

Davy's mind went instantly to the two week "romantic getaway" vacation he'd won. And what she'd just said was a very pleasant surprise. If she had three weeks off for spring break, it would work out… but he didn't often allow himself to think about it because it was so soon into their relationship. He figured he had a week at the most. That was it. He didn't know if it was enough. He'd have to mention it soon, so, if by some miracle she agreed to go, she could start making plans, or whatever girls did before a vacation. Now he contemplated her job. Could she be gone two weeks from her job?

As if she knew his thoughts, she said, "I'm taking my vacation from my job at the same time I have spring break. I get three weeks a year, and I've already cleared it with my boss."

_Perfect! Fucking perfect!_

Davy tried to rein himself in. He couldn't get all worked up because he hadn't even mentioned the vacation to her, and there was no question it was too early. But at the same time, he also knew he couldn't wait much longer. It would be unfair to spring it on her at the last moment. Not today though…he had to work up the courage.

Deanna was delighted that Davy had thought it no big deal about her wet clothes, and even joked about his own. The relief was immense. It helped to put her mind at ease. She could almost feel it in the air, how things were becoming easier, less awkward between them.

When he rolled over onto his side and peered down into her eyes, things moved along naturally. He kissed the tip of her nose, then her cheek, and ended up with his eager lips on her neck. Her neck was sensitive, and he'd only kissed her lips before._ Oh my God._ The rush of desire instantly made her feel like panting. He continued, and even though her nipples were already erect from her wet clothes, they swelled even more now. The pulse of desire thrummed in her belly. He moved to kiss the other side of her neck, requiring him to lay his chest across hers.

More body contact. Oh boy… That was all she needed. His chest on hers, and she knew he could feel her nipples poking against his bare torso. All that lay between them was the thin fabric of her tank top. He had to feel it. He rained kisses all over her neck and shoulder, and she shuddered involuntarily.

"Good? Or bad?" he asked, raising his head. He was referring to her shudder.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice low and teasing.

"Oh… I hope good."

"Yes… good…" she didn't seem to be able to form any more words on her tongue. He had all her attention. She was captivated by his eyes. They gave the impression he knew every single thought she'd ever had.

He moved in to kiss her. They'd only kissed standing and sitting before. This was a whole different animal. On a rock, of all places.

_This had to be a dream._ Davy wanted to shake himself, but then, if it really was a dream, he might wake up. And that would be the ultimate disappointment. Her wet tank top—he'd seen her hard nipples outlined underneath it. She had to have known that would happen, yet she'd been game to wade in the water with him. He admired her, and decided she wasn't as uptight as he'd thought. She was getting to know him now, and the beginnings of her trust had an eerie effect on him. It excited him down to the bone. It meant they could be friends without reservations on her part, and maybe more than friends…Trust could be a heady thing. A potent thing.

His lips, open just a little, covered hers. He felt her arms slip around his neck, and that was when he knew for sure that she was beginning to believe in him. In his integrity. Knew he wouldn't take advantage. It was highly stimulating, to the point to where he was fully, achingly erect in a matter of seconds. The brush of her nipples on his bare chest—it was almost as if she had no top on at all. He fought the urge to groan.

He quivered, he shivered. Her skin was smooth, silky against his rough hands that conquered everything from baseball, to barbells, to horseback riding. She could surely feel his level of arousal. Not physically, because only his chest lay on her. But there was little room for doubt that she felt it in his quickened breath, his unsteady movements.

He deepened the kiss, feeling her eager response beneath him. He offered a hint of tongue—just a hint. She didn't follow his lead. Not yet. No problem. That would come with time. He hadn't had much practice at patience with girls because most of them had been as eager as he…all he would really have to do was lie back and let them make love to him. Sometimes though, he'd wanted to be the instigator. Wanted to feel like the warrior that he was—willing to take on any foe, yet be a caring and confident lover. And this girl was letting him do that. He was gaining permission, in baby steps, to take over and do what came naturally.

He went back to the agonizing teasing he'd done the last time they'd kissed. He liked kissing this way anyway. And a big bonus was it felt loving with Deanna. Before it had just been a tactic to convince a girl—in the days before he had aggressive groupies—to make love with him. With Deanna, it ran deep and intense. He came on a bit heavy, then went back to his slow, sensual, almost lazy assault on her lips. At times it felt as if he would come undone, but he found that, for Deanna, he could obtain more control than he'd ever thought he possessed. Because he liked her so damn much…

Half an hour later, Deanna realized she was way too vulnerable, powerless, weak, in these circumstances. He was drugging her. She wanted it to go on… and on. But she had to put a stop to it. Their kissing had grown so heated that she feared she would send him signals that she was ready. In truth, she was. But she wanted to know him better, felt a need to share more experiences with him, become closer as confidants, even playmates. They'd splashed around in the water, and that had helped to loosen her up—maybe a little_ too_ much. She was steadily becoming more open to him, and that was putting her on a natural high. High on Davy.

She stiffened, and Davy got the hint. They reluctantly sat up, her clothes now almost completely dry, but his hard-on was on display, and no matter what he did, he felt the bulge as if it were a mighty sword in his swim trunks. He occupied himself with pulling bread and ham out of the cooler, fixing sandwiches, hoping she wouldn't see.

"So much fruit!" she exclaimed. "How did you imagine we'd eat it all?"

"I have room mates, you see, who will gladly consume it. I just wanted to be sure I brought at least one kind of fruit that you like."

Man, oh man. This guy was hard not to like. They ate, he kissed her a few more times, then took her home, leaving several pieces of fruit on her table before leaving.

Davy called Deanna that night. He wanted her to know how much their day at the mountain stream had meant to him.

"Just called to let you know I'm thinking of you," he said. He could hear her breathing softly; heard the rate increase, and hoped it was his voice that had caused it.

"Oh, I had the best time today," she sighed.

_God, this was so romantic…._

Just then, Peter walked by, holding an enormous pot of spaghetti. Enough to feed four strapping young guys. In other words, a _lot _of spaghetti. Why Peter was carrying the pot of spaghetti into the living room, Davy had no idea. But Peter was not predictable in the least. You had to be cautious around him. Not that he was menacing or anything, he sometimes just acted before thinking. Since Davy was on the phone, Peter presented the pot to Mike and Micky, declaring dinner was ready, and they should come to the table to eat. Davy guessed Peter was so proud of his accomplishment that he just couldn't wait until the guys sat down at the table to show them the result of his attempt at cooking. And the spaghetti was attractive, Davy had to admit. The smell was making his stomach growl despite his big lunch at Mount Baldy.

Then…it happened. Peter tripped on one of Davy's slippers that happened to be right in his path. In the next moment, as if in slow motion, Davy watched in stunned disbelief as Peter fell, the huge pot of spaghetti hit the coffee table with a loud crash, the entire contents of the pot catapulting violently, splattering spaghetti sauce and spaghetti everywhere. All over the couch, the coffee table, the floor, and Davy. And there lay Peter on the floor, spaghetti sauce and noodles coating his hair and everything else within a five foot radius.

"Shit!" yelled Peter.

Davy covered the receiver with his hand. "Peter!" his look was venomous.

"I'm sorry… it just slipped out," said Peter.

"Well then…" drawled Mike. "I guess you'll just have to go wipe your ass," as he sauntered out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

As Mike left the room without a backward glance, Micky stared after him, nonplussed.

"Man, how in hell could he not react to _that_?" marveled Micky of Peter's spaghetti mishap and Mike's apparent indifference. "The only time he shows any feelings is when he gets mad! Doesn't he have any other emotions? Doesn't he even have a speck of a sense of humor? And damn it, what are we going to have for dinner now? My mouth was all primed for spaghetti!"

Mike's unperturbed exit tickled Peter's funny bone as he remained on the floor, covered with spaghetti and sauce, not even attempting to get up just yet, facing the fact that even though he'd worked hard at the spaghetti dinner, it was now unsalvageable. He started giggling at Mike's cool as a cucumber manner, his shoulders shaking, then laughing out loud, and pretty soon, he couldn't stop. Then Micky started in. Davy, pretty well covered with spaghetti sauce himself, nevertheless, broke down too. All three of them, casting aside the thought of the spaghetti for a few precious minutes, went into hysterics, despite the mess they knew they had to clean up. Even though the laughter was insane, it ironically seemed to be the only sanity in sight. It was going to take a long time to clean up, even with the three of them. They had learned, with all they'd been through, that sometimes it's best just to have a good laugh before facing the unpleasant inevitable.

"Deanna, I've gotta go. Peter just… well, 'pulled a Peter,'" Davy said into the phone.

"Come on, let's get started," said Davy, once he was off the phone, rushing to the kitchen to get paper towels in preparation to tackle the ungodly mess. This would take at least an entire roll.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Micky picking up the phone, dialing a number, evidently by heart.

"Hey, what're you doin'?" demanded Davy, thinking the drummer was trying to get out of helping to clean up the mess.

"Calling for a pizza delivery, of course! We gotta eat, you know!"

An hour later, just as they were finishing up, the pizza arrived, and Peter discovered he'd left the meatballs on the kitchen counter, having not yet added them to the spaghetti. So the boys happily sliced the meatballs and added them to the pepperoni on the pizza, and had a satisfying meal–one that was very well earned.

* * *

_God almighty, he'd kissed her senseless_!

Deanna sat there in a stupor, just remembering… He'd had to get off the phone because of something Peter had done. Peter must be quite the character. Seemed Davy was always mentioning him getting into predicaments. There had been uncontrollable laughing on the other end before Davy had been able to compose himself enough to speak into the phone again. She'd have to ask Davy what happened when she saw him next. God, even his laughter had turned her on! She seriously needed to get a grip on herself.

Right now though, she couldn't focus on anything for more than a few seconds before those wondrous kisses would swoop in to haunt her again.

Deep... slow…long.

She tried to admonish herself, but she couldn't help wondering, yet again, if he was anything like that in bed. It was a process, and couldn't be pushed. But that was okay, because the memory of those kisses was unshakable, and she'd be good just relishing it in her mind for a long time. She went to sleep at night thinking about those kisses. The combination of the sweetness, the gentle flow of things, the sensuality, and then, of course, the lust. It had intoxicated her so thoroughly that no alcoholic drink or drug would be able to get within miles of it. Now, sitting here trying to relive every second of it, she found herself yearning for him. He was only a fifteen minute drive away, although she hadn't yet been to their actual rented house. The place that the guys referred to as the "Pad."

_But he was only fifteen minutes away! _That thought kept lingering, tormenting her, making her crave him.

_Danger! _Her mind screamed at her. She no longer had faith in herself. If she were to be alone with him, she wasn't at all sure she could practice enough discipline.

He seemed to play a bit of cat and mouse with her. Either that or he was trying to space his visits so she wouldn't become weary of him. Something, she smiled to herself, that would never be possible. All seeing him did was make her more hungry for him.

She was still wondering what he'd done Saturday night too, and it clawed at her, gnawed a hole in her stomach—the idea of him with another girl, kissing her the way he had kissed her, and probably doing much more. Insult to injury… here she was, analyzing it, and she didn't even know if he'd been with anyone.

She remembered the tingling in her nipples as they had brushed against Davy's chest. His bare chest. How that inner ache had almost ruled her. She bit into a pear Davy had left on the table, and wondered if his lovemaking was as sweet as the pear was. It was so sweet and juicy that it ran down her chin. That was when all kinds of carnal thoughts wormed themselves into her brain, tangling until there was no way she could unravel them.

She had to work tomorrow, so she laid out her clothes—really just a distraction from her lustful thoughts.

* * *

"When are you gonna ask her?" asked Peter of Davy. Davy knew what Peter was referring to—the vacation. He dreaded it, it squeezed his gut, made his mouth dry just to touch on the subject. Of course her answer would be no. If only he'd met her a few months ago! Or even a few more weeks. He just hadn't known her long enough to ask her something like that. To go away with him… for two weeks…

Peter saw the anguish on his friend's face, the indecision, the misery. And although he wanted to be a knight in shining armor, he was helpless to come to Davy's rescue.

"Well, if I don't have the guts to ask her, I guess I'll just have to take you," said Davy, half- jokingly.

"I wouldn't complain," said Peter. "I'd go with you in an instant."

"You would? And face Mike's wrath?" Davy's eyebrows raised.

He knew it was true. Peter would figure out some way, even if it meant missing a couple of gigs. Boy, would that make Mike blow up! They could manage with three if they had to, but without Peter, the best musician would be missing, and the gig would fall flat on its face. Davy reflected on the fact that they did each have some savings, but still, to have to turn down decent gigs would be downright reckless.

Davy let himself picture it for a moment. He and Peter, in Hawaii. Scouting out girls, bar-hopping, swimming, checking out corals, and whatever else you did in Hawaii. Davy had only seen pictures of it. But still, he didn't think he could have a good time with another girl, much less have sex. Deanna was the one he just couldn't get out of his mind…and the trip held no appeal for him if she weren't with him. But Peter… he was the only other person on earth Davy would even contemplate taking.

"Peter," he said. "I promise that if she turns me down, I'll take you."

Peter was blown away. He saw the sincerity in his friend's face. All the girls Davy could take, and he would choose Peter. That was quite the honor.

"Thanks, David," he said, heartfelt frankness lacing his voice, letting Davy know his appreciation very candidly and openly. And his eyes… well, you always knew when Peter was overjoyed. Pleasure flooded his eyes, almost to the point of weeping. His emotions burst forth, the little boy in him surfacing, something that always enchanted Davy. Peter, with his eternal youth.

* * *

"No gig this weekend, but have no fear. Next weekend we have two—Friday and Saturday," Davy announced proudly to Deanna the next time he saw her, three days after their Mt. Baldy trip. _More money saved, he thought to himself._ The gig would pay very well.

"That's such good news!" Deanna was truly happy. Maybe she'd invite Cassie along to the gig, but first she'd have to ask Davy if it was alright.

"So, what did you do Saturday night?" Davy asked suddenly, with no preamble. He sure didn't lead up to things. He just thrust himself into whatever came into his mind. Could be he did it purposely. She liked it though, because it showed he was genuinely interested in her. She tried to conceal how it jolted her, when she'd been wondering what _he'd _done Saturday night for the last few days. If only he had any idea how much it had absorbed her thoughts.

"Nothing. I sat at home. What did you do?" Now she was completely justified in asking him, since he'd asked first. She scanned his face closely to check for signs of deception. She'd studied body language somewhat, and she didn't hesitate to use what she'd learned on him.

He was relaxed, and looked her directly in the eye. No fidgeting or avoidance behavior.

"I didn't do anything either. Watched a movie with the guys, after cleaning up Peter's spaghetti dinner that ended up everywhere but in our stomachs."

"Is that what you were laughing at on the phone?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't so funny when we had to clean it up. The couch had so many sauce stains," he made a sour face. "It still needs some touch-ups, matter of fact. I do have to admit it was my fault though. He tripped on my slipper."

"You didn't go out?"

"No. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to do something, but I felt it might be too soon, and you might have been tired after spending all day with your friend. Better to err on the side of caution," he said slyly, tilting his head and looking at her sideways in that inquisitive way he had.

"Sometimes you play a little hard to get," she teased.

"That's not my intention. I just try to keep a low profile around you. You know, stay under the radar so I don't get myself in trouble."

"Low profile! You sweep me off my feet when you're around, literally, only to disappear for a few days. You go from hot to cold. Well, it's not really that you get cold-you just vanish."

Here was his chance, falling right into his lap. He grabbed it before it got away. "Well really…" he knew he was putting a lot on the line, so he chose his words carefully. "I prefer spending time with you than going out with someone else."

_He'd done it! He'd admitted it to her!_ He felt like sticking his chest out like the proverbial proud rooster. Now he just hoped she got the significance of it.

"No kidding?" Her face gave away how his words had made her feel. "I've been thinking the same thing to myself lately."

"That you prefer spending time with me?" his penetrating eyes were glued to hers.

She nodded, not really knowing what else to say. Tongue tied. Seriously so.

Davy took the opportunity and put his arm around her waist as they sat on her couch, sitting as closely as he could get, then pulling her in even closer.

"Well, I was going to wait a few more days, but time is running out fast," he said. His dark eyes were serious, and troubled too.

_Wait a few days? Oh my God, what did he mean, time was running out? It sounded so ominous._

"Davy, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice barely an alarmed croak.

"Nothing's wrong… it's just that… well, I…won a trip… in a contest," he stopped and awaited her reaction.

She didn't say anything, and her expression was unreadable.

"In June, you said you have spring break, lasting three weeks, right? And you said you were also going to take your vacation from work at the same time?" He rushed through it, knowing he had committed himself to telling her now. So it was either act now, or drop it. Shit or get off the pot, as Mike was fond of saying. If she showed the slightest bit of dubiousness, he could still save face, preserve his dignity, by saying he would just take Peter. After all, it was the truth.

"Yeah. And?"

He wished she'd say it for him, but shit, he wasn't a wimp! Everyone knew that. But when it came to Deanna, he sometimes seemed to lose his dauntlessness.

"I know we've… only just met a few weeks ago… but… the timing…it all seemed to click, and I took that as a good sign, an omen, you might say, so I was wondering… if maybe…you'd like to go with me? If not, I'll take Peter." He added the last comment as a cushion for his ego. He let out a huge sigh, and he didn't care if Deanna saw it. That had truly been rough going.

"A trip? To where?" she was wary, but not in the way she was when they'd first met. Now it was more along the lines of being on full alert, with the difference being there was also a layer of trust there now, whereas when they'd met, it hadn't been present.

"Hawaii."

"Hawaii…oh. You won it?" she was still reeling from the shock. "How long a vacation is it?"

"Two weeks," he said. "All expenses paid, of course. But if you don't want to, I more than understand. I mean, if you _did,_ by some chance, want to go…I could get you your own room."

Deanna thought her heart might pump right out of her chest. Go away with this wonderful man? He had chosen her? And his offer of her own room told her he didn't expect anything from her. That didn't mean he couldn't still rape her, or make her life miserable, but that thought almost made her laugh. It was pretty obvious by now that he was kosher. Why would he _need_ to pressure someone anyway? He had tons of groupies. And she'd hardly fight even _if _he tried to rape her. It would be impossible because she found him so irresistible. She stifled a giggle. No way could she even begin to envision him raping someone.

"Do you trust me enough?" he continued cautiously.

"That's a very, very big thing to bring up with no warning." It was true—it was huge.

"Well, you don't have to answer me now. I have over a month before the offer runs out. It's just that when you mentioned your spring break, I knew I had to speak up now."

"Thank you, Davy. I'm flattered that you thought of me, but you might have more fun with someone else."

"What? More fun? I have fun every time I'm with you," his eyes took on a sad quality.

_She couldn't go! She just couldn't!_ She'd be sure to yield to his charms and do something she wasn't ready for.

Flustered, she said, "Let's talk about something else. I'm a little numb right now. I haven't even had time to soak it up. We can come back to it later, okay?"

He totally got that. It would be a big jolt to anyone. Asking them to go away with you on a two week trip, out of the blue. She hadn't been the least bit prepared to hear it, and Davy felt as if he should have somehow worked up to it, but he hadn't been able to figure out a way to do that.

"Okay, well, what do you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Um," she had to think fast so he'd lay off the vacation subject for now.

"Tell me about the others, the Monkees."

"Their personalities?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"That's not as easy as it sounds. Well, Peter's easy-what you see is what you get. Micky is basically pretty straightforward too. Mike is complicated, to say the least."

"Who is your favorite?"

"Peter."

"Why?" What caught her attention was the way he had answered without breath or pause.

"Because he's solid gold," and Davy chuckled. "A heart of gold, and a head of gold. Hair, that is. No really, when I say he's gold, I mean it. He's there for me no matter what happens. I can count on him a thousand percent. He'd take a bullet for me. He listens when I whine, he laughs at my bad jokes, even gives me back rubs."

_Whoops. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the back rubs. But then he realized it was only because of his own guilty conscience. Getting the hard-on had precipitated his guilt. Still, when he thought about it, he couldn't help it that Peter had triggered that response._

"So do you also give Peter back rubs?"

Davy blushed. "Every once in a while. But Peter's such a giver that he _always_ wants to please, and I think he prefers that even to getting a massage himself."

Wow, that had sounded a little suggestive. But no-Deanna wouldn't take it that way. There went his guilty conscience again. In fact, he knew Deanna would be way beyond alarmed if he told her Peter had excited him sexually during that last massage. She'd probably be out of Dodge before he took his next breath.

"Hey, did you get your grade on your story yet?" Davy sincerely wanted to know, and had planned on asking her tonight, but he also wanted to get off the subject of Peter massaging him in a hurry.

"Yes, I was going to tell you, and I forgot. I got a B+."

"Not bad! And it's your first story too! I would be thrilled if I were you," Davy's eyes were soft and kind.

"Well, yeah, I guess I am pretty pleased. Like you said, it's not as if I've written a million of them or anything."

"That's right, and the more you write, the better you'll get." His smile was warm, and she suddenly wished she could go with him to Hawaii. What an experience that would be. But, of course she couldn't. She hadn't known him long enough. They weren't familiar enough yet. What would her mother think? She would not only think Deanna was off her rocker, but would also worry herself sick.

If anything ever required a call to Cassie, this did. Cassie, the one who could look at something realistically and impartially. She had a talent for it. Yes, she tended to be licentious, but not in the bad sense of the word. Cassie wasn't opposed to change and broadening one's horizons. She would look at the situation with no bias, and that was just what Deanna needed right now. Cassie had a clear-headed of way of weighing the positives against the negatives, and she was amazingly on target most of the time. If Deanna wanted an objective point of view, Cassie was the go-to girl.

Davy assessed her as they talked about everyday obstacles and frustrations, and dreams too. Dreams of being an author, dreams of becoming a respected musician, and the fact that there was no end to what they could learn about each other. If Davy could buy more time, he would. He'd wait until she was ready. Truly ready. But that wasn't possible. Circumstances called for a decision to be made soon, and he was now fearing the worst.

_She wasn't going to go with him_. It was dawning on him now. She hadn't brought the subject up again, and he could hardly blame her. She was going to turn him down. His heart dropped, but he crammed all those miserable feelings back into an obscure corner of his mind, pretending things hadn't changed. Pretending he wasn't crushed. He'd had no idea how badly he'd wanted her to say yes until now.

She saw it, just a glimmer in his eyes before it disappeared, but it was absolutely there—just concealed at the moment. He was hurt. He had really wanted her to go with him. But she resolved not to talk to him about it again until she'd talked to Cassie. She would listen to Cassie, but whether she followed her advice or not was up to her. It was Deanna's life. She just needed to hear a solemn, practical voice right now. And a level-headed one, since she, herself, was anything but level-headed at the moment.

He kissed her good bye after staying for a couple of hours, but he didn't draw it out. He was afraid she'd think he was trying to sway her by arousing her, and making her lose her head. No, he didn't want it that way. If she were going to make a decision soon, it would have to be because she _wanted_ to go, not because he'd convinced her. Not that he thought he was even capable of convincing her, but he didn't want that to even cross her mind.

It was strangely disquieting when he left, because she knew so much was left unsaid. She'd wanted to air her doubts, her insecurities about taking a trip with him, open up to him about them, but if she said something that didn't come out right, he might misunderstand her, and think she was going to go, or think she was trying to tell him in a subtle way that she had no intentions of it. She didn't want to mislead him either way. This was why she needed to speak to Cassie, and not say another word to him about it for now.

"You go in to work at noon tomorrow," he said.

"You remembered." Her schedule changed sometimes from week to week, and she'd kept him updated. He'd remembered. That meant he thought about her when they were apart.

"Can I call you in the morning?" he asked.

"Of course. I need to do a lot of thinking tonight," she gave him a peck on the lips to let him know she wasn't upset with him. This small act took bravery on her part, and it also put a smile on Davy's face. The fact that she said she had to think tonight told him she hadn't, in fact, definitely decided against the trip. And the kiss to his lips, even though just a peck, was the first time she had initiated affection between them. It was going to be a long ass night.

* * *

They hadn't kissed…well, not in the way she'd wanted. All the fantasies she'd entertained, remembering their time at Mt. Baldy, and so anxious to see him again, hoping he'd kiss her again like that, had been dashed when he'd mentioned the trip he'd won. He'd been a gentleman, and so courteous of her feelings by not jumping on her with fevered kisses. He'd been in tune with her feelings. She knew just what he was thinking—that he should cool it and not try to influence her. Just leave her to do her thinking. No guy she'd ever dated had been this perceptive, this sensitive.

"Hello?" Cassie's voice was thick from sleep. She'd taken a nap after dinner, and in squinting at her watch, she saw it was already nine o'clock. It had been a long day at her job as a retail clerk. Rude people and all that… it was all in a day's work, but nevertheless draining.

"Cassie, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" Deanna's tentative voice told Cassie instantly that something important was on her friend's mind.

"I just took a nap that lasted about two hours," laughed Cassie, her voice still a little hoarse. "But I'm glad you called. I would have been awake at three A.M. if you hadn't. No way would I have slept through until tomorrow morning. What's up? You sound serious."

"Well, I am, actually. Davy was just here. We were talking, and he brought up the fact that he'd won a trip to Hawaii, and to be honest, he knocked my socks off."

"_What_?" Cassie was fully awake now, so much that she sat straight up on the couch, her interest meter peaked out.

"Yeah, he mentioned that he knows we haven't known each other long, but he knows about my vacation and spring break, and that it would be perfect timing for me to go with him, so he felt he really couldn't wait any longer to say something. Cassie, I like this guy way too much…"Deanna was not able to express how strong her feelings were. She was close to actually crying.

"You can say that again! Believe me, I know how hung up you are. Even more than you do! So what's the problem?"

"Cassie, I've only known him a few weeks! We've only kissed… and to go away with him, for two weeks?"

"Deanna, after the way he kissed you at Mt. Baldy, do you want me to tell you that you _shouldn't _go?" Cassie's said, incredulity laced into her voice.

"I need your advice, Cass. This seems so sudden, so crazy, so out of control."

"Girl, you must know what I'm thinking. Sounds like a gas to me. But you're right—you really haven't known him long. I hear real reluctance in your voice. You shouldn't go if it doesn't feel right to you."

"He said he'd even get me my own room."

"Man! Now that sounds to me like he's being honorable. I like that. Why can't I find a guy like that? Anyway, you aren't afraid he's going to try to take advantage, are you?"

"No, but should I be?"

"Hell no, no way. I mean, the guy has taken you to a movie, been to your house, took you to watch them play, even took you to the mountains and didn't rape and murder you yet, so I'd say you're safe."

Cassie had the most dry, sarcastic and sometimes dark sense of humor, but it was just what Deanna needed right now.

"So you think I should really consider it?"

"Deanna, it's something that only you can decide, but I'm pretty sure you know where I stand. The guy is obviously not dangerous or even expecting sex. How much better can you get than that? If it were me… but it's not. Anyway, you know what I'd do if I were in your shoes. I'd go with him, and jump his bones before he knew what hit him." Sure enough, Cassie had her laughing and relaxing in just this short time.

"I _will _get to meet him before you go, won't I?" Well, apparently Cassie had already figured it out that Deanna was going to accept! Deanna didn't even know herself, yet Cassie did. Deanna shook her head in wonderment.

"You'll get to meet him soon. They have a gig that's not this weekend, but the next. I'll ask Davy if I can drag you along. I would have asked him tonight, until he dropped the bomb on me."

"But it's not a bomb—it's_ good_ news!" insisted Cassie.

"I guess, but it shocked me."

"He just let it fly, huh? Sounds like an honest, straight shootin' cat to me. What did you say?"

"Not much. Told him I'd think on it overnight. I wanted to talk to you, of course, but I didn't tell him that. He's calling tomorrow morning."

"Well, I know you'll let me know what you decide, and how the talk goes in the morning."

"You bet!" Deanna really was questioning her sanity. She'd sleep on it and see what her attitude was about this whole thing in the morning, or if it would still seem as crazy and far-fetched as it did right now.

* * *

"I did it, Pete. I asked her to go with me on the vacation," said Davy as he plopped the pile of books on the night stand.

"You did? Tell me, tell me, what did she say?" Like a little kid, Peter could hardly contain his zealous energy.

"She said she had to think about it. She knows I'm going to call her in the morning. Apparently, she'll give me her answer then."

Davy was very nearly beside himself. He paced, his thoughts spawning new thoughts constantly, and in turn, producing more and more anxiety. But he'd accomplished his goal. He'd actually asked her.

Peter's big smile meant all the more to Davy, knowing that Peter had to have been excited about the possibility that he would be going instead of Deanna. But Peter was unselfish and simply glad for Davy, and genuinely wished the best for his friend.

"What are the books for?" asked Peter, indicating the pile Davy had deposited.

"Oh, I went to the library. Not the one Deanna works at, but the other one. I got some books on Hawaii, so I'd at least know s_omething _about it before the trip. You know… appear to be more worldly than I am." Davy sported that furtive look that told Peter he found himself clever. Davy had a healthy dose of self-assurance. Sometimes overly much, if the truth be told. It gave him confidence in himself to do something crafty and even a little devious if it were required. He wanted to study the seven islands, having read they would have access to all of them by way of ferry, and he wanted to discover the most romantic spots. He wanted to be prepared so he could impress her. Or impress _Peter_, if it came to that. Davy's lips curved up at that thought.

After reading for a while, Davy turned to Peter. Peter was also reading, almost always having a book in his hand if he wasn't otherwise occupied.

"Pete, one of the islands is Molokai, and I like the sound of it."

"Why?"

"Well, there's really nothing to do there, so people aren't as attracted to it, but there are beautiful secluded beaches where you rarely, if ever, run across another human being," Davy's eyebrows raised slightly, seeking Peter's reaction.

"Oh… I get it. You want to get her alone," he said, smiling.

"Yeah, eventually. Not right away though. We can stay on Honolulu or Maui for a week or so, and then maybe I can talk her into taking the ferry to Molokai, to camp overnight or something. Maybe even stay a few days, depending on if we can buy food and whatever else we'll need."

"Is she a camping type of girl?" asked Peter.

"Good question. I have no idea."

"Well, you should have plenty of time to discuss things like that while you're on Honolulu or Maui. Work it into conversation. Get the feel for what she likes."

"We've talked, and we have a lot in common, but I haven't asked about camping."

Davy had missed kissing her tonight. Oh God, how he'd missed it! But governing himself now was important so she would have fewer reservations about the trip. About his intentions… but he hoped she knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn't infringe on her or swarm all over her without an invitation.

Davy started pacing again, caught up in the possibilities if she were to say yes. The agony if she were to say no. Peter got up from his bed, approached Davy from behind, and his arms encircled Davy's waist. Davy was used to body contact from Peter, but it had never come in this form before.

"It's okay. Things will work out, one way or another. I just want you to be happy," crooned Peter close to Davy's ear. After a momentary breathless pause, Davy found himself not pulling away or even tensing up. Peter was his shield, his protection from hurt. He leaned back, just a little, enjoying the luxury of Peter's embrace.

"I know that, Peter. I know this is hard on you too, with you wanting to go, and all."

"Man, you need to hang loose. You're all tense again," and Peter began massaging Davy's shoulders, effectively changing the subject.

_Not that again!_ Not now, when he was trying to think about how he'd handle tomorrow if Deanna turned him down.

"Nah, Pete. No massage. I'm still too uptight."

"I dig," said Peter. "Maybe once you've gotten your answer I can help you relax again."

They went downstairs, Davy with a couple of his library books under his arm. Mike eyed the books inconspicuously. "So, have you asked her?" he inquired.

"Yeah, she's gonna think about it. One way or another, though, I'm going. Peter will be going if she doesn't," he got this out quick to get it over with.

"_Peter?" _Micky looked dumbfounded. "Why Peter?"

"Why not Peter?" Davy threw back at him.

"I dunno. With all your girly fans at the clubs, I'd have thought you'd take the female gender."

"I told you guys already—Deanna is the only one I dig."

"How the fuck we gonna do gigs without Peter?" asked Mike brusquely, a very somber, forbidding look etched on his face. An almost deadly look, thought Davy uneasily.

"We have two very good paying gigs coming up, and we all have savings. We could miss a gig or two and hardly feel it. Besides, we've gone plenty of weekends with no gigs," Davy reminded him.

Mike made a non-committal, grunting kind of sound that signaled he was done talking about it. So Davy guessed he wasn't going to press the matter. Well, that was one obstacle out of the way.

* * *

No way. No way was she going to go to an island over 2,000 miles away with a guy she had only been dating for a short time. Nope, she had decided last night at some point during her fitful sleep that she would be a fool to go ahead with it.

What if he got her to Hawaii, then ignored her, chasing Hawaiian girls and partying, and leaving her alone? Or what if he became a jerk and didn't give her the time of day? What if he got mean and nasty and accused her of being rigidly conventional or something? But still she knew, in her heart that it was just not in his character.

Luckily she wasn't due in to work for a while yet, so she dawdled over her coffee and bagel, fretting inwardly, wondering if she'd ever get another chance to go to Hawaii. But right now, and especially under these circumstances, it just wasn't practical or wise, and she was going to make sure Davy understood it without a doubt when he called.

The phone rang at 9:30. It was as if a siren had gone off inside her head-jarring. She was more than startled, even though she'd known it was coming.

"Hi Deanna. Can I come see you before you go to work?" he asked.

"Hi Davy. That's not much time. I have to leave at 11:45, you know."

"Yes, I do know. But I don't want to hear it over the phone…"

_Rejection. That was what he was talking about_, she realized. He didn't want to hear the inevitable "no" over an impersonal phone line.

"Okay, when will you be here?"

"Are you ready for me now?"

"Sure."

"Okay, see you in fifteen minutes."

She could get her hair fixed and make up on in that amount of time if she hurried. So they'd have two full hours. Would he kiss her again? For some reason, his expert kissing seemed to dominate every aspect of her life lately.

She had just put the finishing touches on her lipstick when he knocked at the door.

"Come in!" she cried.

Davy walked in, stiff, as if he were a soldier who is about to be demoted. She dazzled him. How could she look so scrumptious in fifteen minutes? He walked up to her, hugged her. When he drew back, he saw his own eyes reflected in her gray ones, heavy lashes somewhat downcast, coy. She was quiet, composed. He had no idea what she was going to say… or rather, _how_ she was going to say it, since he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"You shouldn't yell 'come in' like that," he scolded. "_Anyone_ could come in."

"But I was expecting you… but still, I understand what you're saying."

As soon as they sat down, she turned to him, and he was stunned by how pretty she really was. Unobtainable in certain ways, but sweet, pretty and determined to hurt him as little as possible. He hoped she would still date him after he got back from the trip. If he hadn't promised Peter he'd take him if Deanna didn't go, he would just forfeit the trip altogether.

She swept her eyes over his face, and, however corny it would sound if she were to try to explain it, like an epiphany, she saw the truth. It was one of those rare moments where a person just _knows._ She was young, he was young. He was upfront, honest, and dashing on top of it all, a very pleasant garnish. They had an opportunity dangling in front of them for an unforgettable adventure, and she astounded herself when she suddenly went against her resolve. She turned her back on everything she was going to say in the space of a heartbeat.

"I've decided I'd love to go with you."

_Had she said that? Really?_

They were both shocked. She, because she'd said it, when her intentions had been to say the exact opposite, and he because he'd also expected something entirely different to come from her lips.

But she meant it. It didn't matter what Cassie had said, although Deanna had respected and taken her opinion seriously. In the end, she had to make up her own mind.

He hugged her. Pulled her across his lap so he could hug her closer.

"I didn't expect that," he whispered, as if his voice box had given out on him.

"You see," he went on. "When I fly too high, something's bound to burst the bubble. So I didn't dare be very hopeful."

All she could do was smile, because her throat seemed clogged, and her eyes were misty. Whatever the future held, she was up for it. As long as Davy was involved.

"I've missed you," she breathed.

"I missed you too," he said, feeling more elated and jubilant than he thought possible.

"No, I mean, I've _really_ missed you…" and she cuddled up ever closer.

Ohhh… now he got it. She wanted him to kiss her. Well, now he had solid confirmation that she'd liked it. Really, she had surprised him with her response to him in the mountains. He'd judged her wrongly. Until that kiss, and the one before it, he had almost believed she must be a virgin. But her response to him had been that of a woman, not a young girl.

Their bodies very close, in fact, plastered together, he kissed her again. To say he stole her breath would be trivializing it. She was primed for him, abandoning herself, letting him take her to their own magical world once again. She succumbed to the free fall of emotions.

Davy breathed deep, and his chest expanded with need. So did his crotch, but she'd be exposed to that sooner or later, as close as their bodies were, and, even though he didn't know exactly how old she was, she was old enough to realize it was an automatic reflex for a man who is aroused by a woman. He hoped it wouldn't offend her. It felt so different, yet exactly the same as the last time, the only exception being the anticipation of the kiss was even more intense.

This time though, barely five minutes into it, his breathing became rougher than ever, and she sensed he was trying to regulate his actions. He was critically turned on. The hand he had on the back of her neck was controlling, getting her at just the right angle so he could ravage, devour her mouth with his own. His other hand was on the small of her back, compelling her to let go and enjoy it. Her buttocks, on his crotch, detected the surging of his erection. She gasped at this blatant proof of his desire.

"I've got two tickets to paradise, and I wish they were one-way," he murmured as he kissed her neck, his tongue also coming into play in a discreet way that made her gasp out loud.

Such romantic words. She was aghast at how they seemed to be equally aroused, almost to the point of desperation. He did his tease and retreat, starting slowing, then coming in more aggressively, then retreating again. The same thing he'd done before, and the same thing she'd longed for, cried out for in her sleep, then waking up to realize he wasn't kissing her after all. And being bitterly dissatisfied that the dream had not continued.

The happiness of her acceptance spilled over into the kiss, right among all the other myriad of emotions. The desire, the passion, the affection, the ardor. He continued to kiss her neck, the wet feel of his mouth warming her skin. Her response was more like one would expect if he was doing something far more intimate.

"Am I hitting my stride yet?" he asked at some point in time, making her giggle despite the fact that they were both panting. He eased her back on the couch so they could lie down and kiss. She yielded willingly, her trust in him escalating steadily. And wanting him to know it.

Through it all, Davy was still on guard, overflowing with self-doubt somewhere in the back of his mind, even though he was carried away with passion at the moment. He was afraid she would reconsider. He was almost paranoid, fighting the demons within him, afraid he'd offend her, and then she'd change her mind. Or that she might just simply reexamine things and decide to decline. If she did that, it would shatter him…


	6. Chapter 6

_If kissing is what she wants, kissing is what she will get._

Davy pressed her into the back of the couch, his body converging on hers, and she not only allowed it, she ate it up, behaving differently than she ever had. She hadn't known it was even in her. Enticing him like this. She was suddenly a wild woman, wanton, clutching him to her. And for the first time, he became more assertive in his quest to make sure she didn't change her mind about going on the trip with him. She'd said "yes" and he was going to make sure it remained a yes. Not only that, but that it became a "hell yes." He'd found her weak spot, and he was going to wriggle his way into her heart by working away at that weak spot until it became threadbare, and then finally gave way, allowing him entrance.

Davy loved to make out, and he was going to make it work in his favor. By the time he was done with her, she'd never think twice about backing out of going on the trip. Passion washed over the both of them, ripe, strong and vigorous.

She knew he could clearly overpower her, which was arousing enough, but what was even more incredibly arousing was that he didn't abuse that power. His mouth claimed hers, owned it, as he launched his considerable intrigue. Yet all the while, she didn't feel any pressure from him. There was none of the rough manhandling, mauling and groping she'd experienced before that had convinced her once and for all that most men were brutes.

He tried again with his tongue. Last time she hadn't been ready. He licked the inside of her bottom lip, encouraging her to open to him just a little more. Just enough to pique her desire—no more.

Other dates had plowed ahead, giving her a mouthful of tongue. That kind of kissing required no talent. It was primitive, almost beastly. It was just plain sloppy, making her recoil. Davy treated kissing as an art. As a result, kissing now had a new definition for Deanna. A lick here, a quick, teasing dart there, until she was on the cusp of begging him to stop retreating. At last her tongue met his tentatively, exploringly, and his mouth had a life all its own. His lips cajoled her, persuaded her, pulled at her, seduced her. Davy and Deanna made love exclusively with their mouths, an experience Deanna had never had the extreme pleasure of being immersed in. This was a whole new world.

She didn't understand the whys or wherefores, but she found herself with the craziest urge to suck his tongue. Just how suggestive was that? And whatever gave her that idea? It seemed so out of line, yet so sensual. She'd never even thought of doing something like that with anyone before, and it puzzled her that she craved it with him. She was overcome with the urge. But, suddenly she felt the pressure of his body lessen. He was withdrawing, going to a sitting position.

"You'll have to leave for work soon," he said. His voice wavered just enough for her to notice. His composure was on precarious ground. _Had that much time gone by? _ It seemed that only a few minutes had passed, when, in reality, she saw that it was already eleven-thirty. Davy's chest was heaving, and his eyes were heavy lidded. At least he'd kept his head enough to remember to remind her about work. She, on the other hand, had completely lost touch with anything to do with reality. Only _their_ reality.

As she somehow, with a gargantuan effort, lifted her body from the couch, she felt like she was made of marshmallows. Since she was wobbly, he followed her to her bedroom where she would get dressed for work, carefully closing the door so she wouldn't think he was going to try to snatch a peek. Padding back to her couch, he bargained with his erection, promising it some relief later on if it would just cool it for now. It didn't work. She was just on the other side of that bedroom door, changing clothes, and his erection was well aware of it.

She came out, looking fresh and pretty as ever, her cheeks a bit splotchy, her hands a little shaky, her eyes slightly hazy being the only giveaways as to what they'd been doing. Much as he hated it, it had to be done—he had to know. He asked her if she was still sure of her answer. He held his breath, staunch and steadfast, or, at least appearing that way on the surface. Underneath, he was navigating rough, choppy waters as far as his nerves went. He might go overboard at any moment, should she say she'd changed her mind. Carried out to sea, to drown in sorrow. Oh damn, he was being dramatic, even if it were only his thoughts. He was too fucking good a swimmer to drown anyway. He was a survivor. Same with sorrow… he would overcome it like he'd overcome all the other considerable obstacles in his life. Yet, he still put everything on hiatus while awaiting her answer.

"Yes, Davy," she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye, difficult as that was to do. They'd gotten so absurdly hot for each other, and she wondered what he'd thought of her behavior. She _almost _felt dirty. She was certainly not acting like the same girl as the first time he'd kissed her!

"I'm glad. I'd be heartbroken if you changed your mind now, love," he said as he wrapped his arms around her. He wondered if she knew just how soberly he meant that. "I also hope you're not upset with me for being so…avid."

_Avid. An interesting word._ "No. I won't deny it. I loved it," her last words were said more quietly. With conviction, she said, "I won't change my mind about the trip either, I promise. Mind you, I'd never agree to this with anyone else that I'd only known as long as I've known you, but there's something about you—I haven't felt this way before."

There was so much else she had to say, but she couldn't find the words. Even so, she felt like she was revealing a little too much, and sounding on the goofy side too. But he didn't laugh at her. His expression was serious, and he looked deep in thought as his eyes searched hers.

"You know," he said. "My appetite for other girls has fizzled out lately. All but _one_ girl."

It took her a moment to realize he was actually talking about _her._ Damn, she thought stuff like this only happened in fairy tales. She'd never heard a guy articulate himself like this.

Red cheeked, she reluctantly grabbed her purse, preparing to leave. "I'd better get going so I won't be late."

"I'll call you when you get home from work," he said, laying a semi-long kiss on her lips. It was just enough to heat her up all over again. Her legs instantly went weak. "That's something for you to carry with you," he said.

"To get me through the day," she said, smiling, that knot of desire twisting inside her again.

They walked out together, and on his drive home, Davy thought about how sex without affection had lost its appeal for him. He'd told himself that orgasms were enough, but now that he'd kissed and been close to Deanna, he knew for sure that they weren't. Orgasms were just orgasms. There was so much more he had left to discover. And he'd thought he knew it all…He'd been waiting for the right girl without even consciously knowing it. He'd been bursting with affection, tenderness that wanted to break out, yet he hadn't had a clue. He'd just wondered why sex suddenly seemed so empty…so lonely.

* * *

First things first. After work, Deanna knew she had to call her mother. The longer she waited, the more troubled her mother would be. A very short notice would alarm her mother, as she was high strung in temperament. As it was, Deanna had barely two weeks before they would be leaving. She'd mentioned Davy to her mom a couple of times, so at least her mom knew _of _him, although she hadn't met him. Causing her mom anguish was the worst possible thing Deanna could think of, but not telling her until the last minute would be outright cruel. She would have to be sure to have her mom meet Davy at least once before they left. Time was lacking for her mother to get to know him well, but at least her mom would have an opportunity to see how polite and gentlemanly he was. It would help… but Deanna wasn't at all sure it would help _enough._ Knowing her mother was miserable with worry would take the fun completely out of the vacation, and she didn't want that to happen. Deanna would simply have to call her as often as she could once they got there, daily if needed, in order to somewhat allay her mother's fears.

Her mother didn't take it well. _What? In two weeks? And be gone two weeks? And with a guy she'd only met recently_? Then the fast succession of deeper, more involved questions started. _How old was he?_ That one was bad, very bad, as Deanna realized in horror that she _didn't know!_ But she told her mother he was twenty-three, just estimating. She hated to lie, but what would her mother think if she admitted she had no idea how old he was? Her mother would be in even more of a tizzy than she already was. Next question was, where would they be staying? Deanna told her she wasn't sure, as she didn't have all the details yet. That brought a loud, dismayed sigh. Well, would there be a phone number where she could reach her daughter? Deanna had to say, once again, that she didn't know. It was getting hairy, and fast.

"I'll give you all the details before we go, of course. I can also bring him over to meet you whenever you want. Whenever our schedules coincide, that is," she said, feeling a little chagrined. "He's in a band, and has practice, and of course my work hours and school hours also come into play. But I'm sure we can work something out soon. I'll talk to him about it when he calls tonight."

Deanna cut off the conversation after some small talk, politely inquiring how her mother was doing, what she was up to. She now had Davy to contend with, and she sure as hell hoped he would agree to meet her mother.

Right after she hung up, the phone rang. Davy. No, it wasn't. It was Derrick. He wanted to know if she was free to go to lunch tomorrow.

"Well, I go in at nine tomorrow, so yeah, I could go to lunch with you," she knew she'd have to break the news to him too, so she might as well do it tomorrow, and while she was curious about his reaction, she was a little tentative too. And no wonder. Davy wasn't exactly Derrick's favorite person.

"Okay, I'll be by your work at one then."

Davy called a little later. "Man, your phone's been busy the last three times I tried to call," he said lightly, shrugging off the slight inconvenience, just happy to hear her voice.

"Oh, I had to call my mother to tell her about the trip. I figured, the sooner, the better. Then, right after that, Derrick called."

Davy didn't let his uneasiness show in his voice. "How did your mother take it?"

"Not too well. She asked me all about you, you know, the kinds of things mothers ask. I told her I'd ask you if you would go with me to meet her. She's a real worry wart."

"Well, of course I will. It's only proper." Oh, how that made her veins run warm. He was willing, and she knew it wouldn't be a piece of cake for him.

"What did Derrick have to say?"

"Oh, we're going to lunch tomorrow."

Just a slight pause after that, and Davy said he hoped she had a good time, and that he'd like to take her to lunch someday soon as well, as he was usually done with practice by her lunch time. She assured him she would love it. Davy was full of pride when they hung up after nearly an hour of chatting. He hadn't pestered her about Derrick at all. He hadn't said a word.

The next day, Deanna sat across from Derrick at a café, she toying with a sandwich, he wolfing down a hamburger. That was one thing guys were usually good at—eating. They all seemed to have healthy appetites.

"Uh, Derrick," she said when there was a pause in the conversation. "I'm going to be going on a trip soon. In fact, in two weeks, when spring break starts."

Derrick looked up from his burger, eyes wide. "A trip? Where?"

"Well, um…. Hawaii, actually."

"Hawaii! Can you afford that?" He hadn't meant to be so discourteous and brazen. But it had caught him unawares.

"Well yes, because it was won. By Davy," she added after taking a deep, bracing breath, and being certain to keep her voice as steady as she could.

"Davy…oh man, you mean that creepy guy at the library?"

"He's not creepy, Derrick! He just wanted to get to know me, and didn't approach because you were usually there. I've already explained all that. He's a very nice, normal guy. I mean, remember how he asked to be introduced to you after you slugged him first? It takes character to do that." Deanna surprised herself with the ferocity of her defense on Davy's behalf.

"But look how long you've known him! And you're going to Hawaii with him?" Derrick felt strongly that this was not the Deanna he knew. This guy must have really sent her into a tailspin. Lovesick—that's probably what it was. Or just lovesick for a pretty face.

Deanna felt like this was an almost verbatim repeat of her conversation with her mother, complete with the rapid-fire questions.

"Yes, I'm definitely going."

"Are you guys…." Derrick didn't want to push the envelope by asking her something she might deem too private, but he just couldn't seem to restrain himself.

She caught his drift. "No, we're just dating. Who knows though, what might happen in Hawaii?" Deanna was jarred by her own statement. But damn it, if he was going to be asking her personal questions, he deserved to be shot down. It wasn't his place—he was only her friend. He shouldn't be asking such questions… or implying anything, even though it was subtle. She could date whomever she wanted, and she could also do anything else she wanted without having to answer to Derrick. She was twenty- two years old, and besides that, Derrick didn't know her history with Davy. A short history, but a history nonetheless. He didn't know all the nice things Davy had done, and how he hadn't assumed a thing, how he'd treated her like a lady, with more respect than any of the previous guys she'd dated.

The audacious little bastard! It was by pure serendipity that he'd found Deanna, was Derrick's first thought. And it was true, but, he had to admit it was also true the guy had won her over fair and square. Loathingly, Derrick had to admit the short little charmer was very artful and resourceful. He'd been persistent and patient, quietly waiting until he saw his chance, but he'd made no secret of his passion for Deanna in the meantime. Then, he'd ventured forward, unabashed, and lured her to him. Practically right out from under Derrick's nose. He'd snatched her away as effortlessly as a hawk swoops down on its prey. Derrick was sure the British accent had enchanted her too. For some reason, women often fell for accents, British seeming to be amongst the most desirable.

_He should have been more assertive_. From the beginning—when he'd met her in the classroom. Should've asked her out, like a man who is smitten with a woman, and wants her as a girlfriend, not just a friend. But it probably wouldn't have worked. The little charmer would have gotten her anyway. He had the looks, plus the charisma that Derrick just couldn't seem to be able to grasp. He couldn't get the hang of it, and put it to use because Deanna intimidated him with her beauty. The moment he saw her, all thoughts of clever things he could say and do had deserted him. Now look where it had gotten him. Then he'd made a total ass out of himself by attacking the guy in the parking lot. He'd only been trying to defend Deanna's honor. But now that he thought about it, he _hadn't_ really seen her fighting the guy off, or objecting in any way. Quite the contrary. And just as the guy had said, he should have been more discriminating—been sure she was being forced before resorting to violence. Then the guy had turned right around, punched him, then forgiven him, or for the most part, it seemed. He'd joked about it. Yeah, if Derrick had been in that position, he wouldn't have been sophisticated enough to handle it. He would have gone stark raving mad if someone had struck him from behind like that if he was kissing Deanna. So now, even through his jealousy, he mustered up some very grudging respect for the guy.

Derrick couldn't help feeling protective of her though. Two weeks alone with the guy…Davy… he kept forgetting his name; he knew that subconsciously he didn't want to remember it. He was so damn jealous, envious too. The guy was in a band. He was going somewhere in life. Derrick felt inferior. He was in college to become an earth scientist, but that was still a way off. He was halfway to getting his associates degree at Malibu Community. After that he would transfer to a bachelor's degree program at a university. He hoped there wouldn't be a problem with getting his credits transferred. It weighed heavily on his mind, every little detail. This was his second and final year at Malibu Community. He'd taken two years off after high school to goof off, and now he wished he hadn't. If he hadn't he would have had his associates by now. And that might have impressed Deanna. It was a good thing his parents could afford to pay his tuition. He worked part time to help out, but it would be a drop in the bucket compared to how much his parents would be paying. He was angry with himself for not taking high school seriously enough. He hadn't been quite dedicated and focused enough to get a scholarship, earning a 3.5 grade average, when a 4.0 would have practically guaranteed him one. He could have done it—he just hadn't applied himself. Still, he was hoping he wouldn't have too much difficulty in getting into a university of good standing. It irritated him, though, that this Davy guy was evidently doing well in the musical business. The guy was stylish, acted as if he came from money, and had a gem of a car. Far more impressive than Derrick's Volkswagon.

If he'd only known Davy had grown up poor in Manchester, England, having to share what little the family had with his sisters, and even having to wear hand-me-down coats from his sisters because his parents couldn't afford to buy him his own. If only he knew how hard the Monkees had worked to get every single gig in their past—even undesirable ones, all the times the rent had been overdue, when they'd needed groceries, how battered their furniture was, much of it makeshift.

How they had lived in dire straits for the first couple of years, close to being in the streets more than a few times, until they had finally, recently began to actually make enough to pay the rent on time every month, and get groceries without having to take an adding machine along with them to be sure they didn't go over the amount they had remaining in their checking accounts. It all sounded so easy to someone on the sidelines who didn't realize how difficult it was to play an instrument, or close to a dozen, in Peter's case, and not haphazardly either. Bringing the instruments together to create music that affected people's souls. How hard it was to harmonize, all the grueling hours of practice they put in weekly. To hold an audience's interest, the pressure on one or two of the band members to keep coming up with new songs. The money it took to buy decent instruments, keep them all in spiffy band clothes and the Beatle boots that all bands of the day wore because it was hip, and the list went on. If Derrick knew all this, he would have had more compassion for Davy.

"I wish I could talk you out of this," Derrick implored Deanna. "He could get you over there, and you'd be stuck there with him for two weeks, even if things got precarious. The guy packs a punch," he said, almost as if to himself. "I hope he's not a woman beater. I wouldn't want to see anything bad happen to you. I didn't think you were the type to be so careless."

It was, indeed, totally out of character for her, she mused. But it was also about time she stopped being so straight laced.

"I've already thought of all that, spent many hours at it, in fact, and I'm convinced he wouldn't do anything out of line. And if things get heated, it wouldn't be in the way you are implying. It would be a _nice _kind of heated." Deanna knew she was being a little uppity, but he shouldn't be poking his nose into this. It was something she _wanted _to do, and by God, she'd do it! Between her mother and Derrick, she felt as if she were a ten year old kid asking to go out into the world on her own or something equally ridiculous. They were treating her like a child. She felt she was old enough, mature enough, for her mother and Derrick to honor the fact that she had some common sense.

* * *

It was the end of the day. His thoughts drifted to Deanna. He hadn't wanted to stop. Understatement of the century. He'd wanted to continue kissing her into infinity. Until there wasn't any universe left. Just kiss her-they wouldn't have had to go any farther if she didn't want to. He would have been aching for her, but just kissing her, holding her, maybe all night long, and even without making love, would have made him one happy man. But she'd had to go to work, so he'd done the right thing, and informed her of how late it was getting. Ripping himself away from her had felt like the worst kind of torture.

He was getting great vibrations from her. She had a hell of a lot of passion bottled up in that little body of hers that would never occur to you if you saw her on the street. She had looked serious, studious, almost somber at the library. Not frumpy, but certainly not out to flirt. She wasn't on the make, and he liked that. He was strangely proud of the effect he had had on her. She'd tried to ignore him, but her eyes had kept going back to his from time to time, even though she had that disapproving look that, by the way, didn't faze him in the least. Girls sometimes appeared reluctant when they were actually anything but…

"How're things going with her, David?" Peter's voice cut into his thoughts like a cleaver.

"So you knew what I was thinking about?" Davy smiled at Peter-the one who seemed to be able to siphon his thoughts right out of his head. Peter didn't have a big mouth, and Davy could trust him not to advertise his personal business. It would stay between the two of them. Davy figured Deanna told her friend Cassie what was going on between them as well, so he didn't feel bad about it. Everyone needs a confidant.

"When you get that dreamy, vapid look, it's always about a girl," Peter's smile was fond and soft.

"We kissed a lot before she had to go to work. She showed a new side of herself to me. This kiss was the most…amorous ever!" Davy couldn't keep his feelings from Peter. It was if Peter were actually a part of him. He couldn't imagine not sharing it with him.

"That's far-out. She sure didn't leave any doubts about going with you on the trip, huh?"

"Well, I asked her again, just to be sure, and she confirmed she's going. I felt a lot of power, you know, when we were kissing. It was … _different._ A masculine power that was…overwhelming." Davy didn't know quite how to explain it.

_Oh, Davy had power alright_, thought Peter. Power to make you melt right into the pavement.

_David, you melt me right into the pavement_. Peter imagined saying that to Davy just to see the look on Davy's face.

"She even wants me to meet her mother before we go so her mother can see the kind of person she's going with. Talk about pressure…" Davy smiled.

Peter smiled right back. Davy was one who could handle pressure better than anyone else he knew. In fact, he treated it as a challenge.

"Usually I can deal with that kind of thing, but Pete…Deanna could be a 'forever' type girl." There were slight fluctuations in the timbre of Davy's voice that Peter hadn't ever heard before. Yep, he had it _really _bad for this girl. Davy breathed in deeply, turning his eyes to Peter's in a direct gaze. The moments their eyes held were intense. Something rippled beneath the surface…

"Wanna hug?" asked Peter softly. Peter had never asked permission before, he'd just simply done the deed, partly in fear Davy would decline. But feeling sentimental and on the verge of tears, and not quite sure why, Davy relented. Davy had never refused a hug from Peter, but answering a direct question about it was a different story. No matter…As Davy lay on his side, Peter climbed onto his bed, and lowered himself slowly to lie beside Davy, facing him.

"I don't think I've ever been in this kind of shape before," said Davy.

"Certainly not around me," Peter said, and Davy began silently analyzing the blond's words. Peter, always Davy's comfort, lay there, stalwart and solid.

Davy played with his love beads, introspection weighing on him, wearing him out mentally. Peter put his arms around Davy, scooting forward until they were in a complete, close embrace. Davy gave himself permission to bask in the solace Peter offered, sliding his arms around the bassist. Peter's hands rubbed and patted Davy's back in a reassuring kind of way.

"Maybe you're in love with her?" inquired Peter, from the vicinity of Davy's ear. When he asked, his soft, warm breath wafted over Davy's ear and neck, making Davy want to shiver.

"It's way too soon for that," said Davy, almost sadly. "It's also too soon to go on vacation with her," he added.

"Why do you say that?"

"We've hardly had a chance to even date. I don't want her feeling uncomfortable with me when we get there."

"Just be yourself," said Peter. "That's all it takes. Just be yourself."

"How can you be so sure that'll be enough?"

"Trust me, I know…" Peter didn't say any more because he knew if he did, he might disclose a little too much.

After their hug, they moved onto their backs, Peter remaining on Davy's bed, the two of them silently content with their thoughts.

* * *

There was less than two weeks left before their departure. In fact, glancing at the calendar, Deanna gasped to see it was only ten days away. Today was Friday—the weekend with no gigs. Their next two gigs would be their last before the trip. The reality hit Deanna with a novel force. They would be leaving the Monday after the last gig. She would have to make arrangements to take Davy to see her mother this weekend. Cassie would be going to their gig, so at least she'd get to meet Davy and the guys before they boarded a plane and headed for Hawaii. A lot had to be crammed into too little time.

She began packing clothes. Two week's worth-that was a lot of clothes. Fourteen sets! She'd prefer to have two sets for each day, but decided that would simply use too much suitcase space. As it was, she didn't know if she'd get it all in two good size suitcases. There was not only her clothes, but her shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, toothbrush and personal items, a book or two, shoes, nightgowns, robe, swim suits, oh my God, she thought. There's no way I'll get it all in two suitcases! So she'd have to bring that up to Davy, and she knew he'd probably roll his eyes and say something like, "Women!" in exasperation. But he was a snazzy dresser, and she felt certain he would have quite a number of clothing items himself.

There was so much to think about, so much to do! She'd have to pay her rent and utilities before they left, and even though she wouldn't know the exact amount due on the utilities, she could overestimate to be on the safe side. Coming home from Hawaii to find she didn't have any electricity would be quite a drag. She'd have to have the post office hold her mail too. Her mother had already offered to come over occasionally to check on things.

She could truly relax about one thing though, she wouldn't be missing any work or school. She'd only seen Davy once since they had decided what day they would leave. They had both been busy tying up loose ends, and he'd come to see her at the library one day. As luck would have it, Derrick had also showed up the same day.

Deanna had been getting ready to clock out in ten minutes, looked across the room, and there were Davy and Derrick, sitting opposite of each other at the same table, not exactly glowering at each other, but rather stiff, cardboard-ish. Acknowledging each other grudgingly. Davy had come to see her briefly because he knew she had to work the next day, and he'd wanted to kiss her in the parking lot before she went home. With practice having been changed to tonight, that was all the time he had. By the time he would be done with practice, she'd be in bed. Derrick had to yield to Davy, and he knew it. Davy was now top man here. So he hovered in the background, in a manner of speaking. Gave Davy the right-of-way.

Deanna smiled, hiding her apprehension when she saw them both waiting. She clocked out, then walked up to them, turning to Davy and kissing him squarely on the lips as he hugged her, then she turned to Derrick. She wasn't going to water down her reaction to Davy just because Derrick was there. Derrick cringed—not appreciating this show of affection in the library where the other employees could see that she was with Davy, and not with him. He asked her if they could do something like lunch or dinner once more before she left on her trip.

Deanna looked at Davy for any signs of resentment as she accepted. Davy offered no argument. His facial features were guarded. Likewise, they were courtly. In any case, they were soft. Derrick had been her friend before she'd met him, and he respected that. The three of them walked out to the parking lot, Deanna telling Derrick she'd call him when she had a chance to go to lunch, and Derrick walked back to his VW.

He sat there in his car for a minute or two, only to witness another kiss between Davy and Deanna, but this one was steamy, and up against her car. Now Derrick _knew _he was out of the picture. There was no seed of doubt left in his mind. As if he'd ever thought she'd fancy him anyway… She was leaning into Davy, her arms around his neck, Davy holding her firmly against him, and the kiss was anything but halting or unsure. While he somewhat perversely wanted to keep watching, he instead put his foot on the accelerator and left the parking lot none too slowly.

Davy and Deanna hadn't even noticed. They were aware of nothing but each other. They hadn't seen each other in days, and this kiss was precious to them. Stolen moments like this were few and far between lately. But it wouldn't be long until they'd have all the time in the world to spend together, once they were in Hawaii, and alone. Davy lived for that…

* * *

"Mrs. Loy, it's nice to meet you," said a sharply dressed Davy, rising to his feet and putting on his most dazzling smile as he crossed the room, his boot heels clicking across the linoleum to shake Deanna's mother's hand warmly when she entered the room. "Call me Charlene," the older woman said, taken aback for just an instant at how attractive he was. _He had the same effect on all ages of women_, thought Deanna to herself.

He hadn't even known Deanna's last name until half an hour before! He had just never thought to ask her. He also knew her mother would be horrified if she'd known that.

When they'd walked in, Davy's breath had hitched. It was a beautiful home. They walked into a huge living room with nothing but glass windows with sliding doors on one entire wall, looking out at the ocean. Same for the dining room, which was adjacent to the living room. The kitchen was spacey, a cozy den off it that had a sliding glass door that looked out onto the small yard out back.

Charlene was a lively woman, not overly heavy, but pleasantly plump, with a buxom figure that many men found alluring. She had Deanna's blond hair, but with blue eyes. Deanna had inherited her gray eyes from her father. Deanna saw her mother's face grow a bit pale, then rosy pink. Yep, her mother was thoroughly charmed by Davy. She'd always been boy crazy. Mother and daughter had the same taste, and had often admired good looking men on television, usually in complete agreement. It didn't take long to be enchanted with Davy—_unless_ you were sitting across from him in a library, and he kept ogling you like some kind of vagabond or disturbed individual.

After pleasantries and a bit of conversation, Deanna's mother pulled her daughter into the kitchen.

"Are you sure he's not one of these stalkers who acts polite, courteous and gentlemanly so he can get you away from family and friends and victimize you?" Deanna felt genuinely bad for her mother, because her mother just didn't _know_ Davy. Of course she'd be worried—she wouldn't be a good mother if she didn't have concerns.

Deanna gave Davy a tour of the rest of the house. The master bedroom had its own huge bath, and also a glass slider door on one entire wall, facing the ocean. The other three bedrooms were smaller, one other bathroom and the three car garage. The paved deck that ran the length of the front of the house had nice, casual lawn furniture and rested atop a steep hill covered with ice plant. This part of San Clemente was called Shore Cliffs, and it was a fitting name. It wasn't as close to the ocean as the Pad, but Davy couldn't help but think what it would be like to live in this house in Malibu instead of the Pad. He wished the other guys could see it.

Charlene had offered him an array of soft drinks that made his head spin, plus tea or lemonade, and he'd ended up with a 7-Up and a plate of cookies before him on the coffee table. Charlene was very open, friendly and casual. No one would ever call her snobbish. She was the kind of woman who made you feel instantly comfortable. She also had an excellent sense of humor. Davy was overcome with gratitude at her hospitality.

When they left after a couple of hours, Charlene protesting, yet smiling at Davy, Deanna felt like there were too few hours to get everything done before they left. She wished they could have spent a little more time with her mother, but she was pleased to see her mother's approving stares at the two of them by the end of those two hours. She could almost feel the relief in her mother's mannerisms. Davy had almost surely won her over. That was one less thing to worry about. Her mother had tried to slip Deanna some money for their trip, but Deanna had refused. As they hopped on the freeway for the drive home, Davy handed an envelope to Deanna.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Your mom said to give it to you," he said.

Deanna looked inside to find five hundred dollars in crisp one hundred dollar bills. Davy saw her looking at the money, and laughed.

"You told her we won the trip, all expenses paid," he said, looking a little bewildered.

"I know, I know, but she was probably thinking of souvenirs," explained Deanna. "Also, she worries I might end up needing something that I forgot to take, or I might see something really special. She's just one of those people. Always worried and not happy unless she can do something for me."

"She's a wonderful lady, and the two of you are very much alike," he said, and she knew that was a sizable compliment.

* * *

"Davy, I have only two big suitcases, and they're so full that I can hardly shut them, and what's worse is I don't even have my second change of clothes in there! Or my books!"

Davy chuckled on the other end of the line. All they had time for was a quick conversation. "Deanna, we can always buy you some clothes when we're over there, and get you as many books as you need too, although I think we'll be too busy for you to spend much time reading."

He was right. She was over reacting. She ended up packing one outfit for each day, her shampoo and personal items, a robe a few nightgowns, swim suit and three pair of shoes. Even so, she would need Davy's help to get the suitcases to close completely.

Deanna went to lunch with Davy once, went to dinner with Derrick, went to her mother's again, and her mother came to see her once, and spent the night. Deanna was glad for that, because it gave them plenty of time to talk. Her mother had reassured her that Davy was a winner, and she was not anywhere near as worried as she'd been when first told about the trip. Deanna trusted her mother's good judgment when it came to men. Her mother insisted on hearing how Deanna had nabbed him, so Deanna had told her the story about the library. Her mother got a real kick out of it.

When Deanna had last seen Derrick, he seemed like he was in a sort of semi-trance. He was partially in denial, and she realized he hadn't had enough time to fully accept it. Same with her mother, although Charlene was feeling so much better about things since she'd met Davy and talked with him.

Their goodbyes were taxing. Deanna's mother clung to her daughter, tearing up, as she held her tightly to her bosom. Her only daughter. Her only child, in fact. Even at the airport, Charlene kept asking Deanna if she had remembered everything. The boy couldn't be more courteous and sweet, so she figured her daughter could certainly be in worse hands. Derrick didn't go to the airport, as he couldn't bear to, but had said goodbye to Deanna two days before she left, after their class. He had hugged her awkwardly and self-consciously, and it had lasted a little too long for Deanna's comfort. He'd called her the morning before she left reminding her to call him collect from Hawaii when she could. When Deanna told Davy about Derrick's clinging hug, Davy had to put himself in Derrick's shoes, and remind himself to cut the guy a little slack. After all, he, Davy, would have Deanna to himself for two weeks.

Saying goodbye to Cassie was much easier than the others. Cassie had come to one of the gigs the weekend before their departure, and she'd been able to see quite clearly why Deanna had fallen head over heels for Davy. She had constantly encouraged Deanna for the remaining two days to take advantage of her time alone with him on the island. She'd even called Deanna just to say, "Get that beautiful boy of yours into bed and sock it to him!"

When Davy had hugged Deanna to console her after her mother's hug in the airport, Charlene looked on, and a sense of peace cloaked her that came out of seemingly nowhere. An intuition that hadn't failed her yet told her that Davy would, in fact, be good to her daughter. He had held her so tenderly…

The other three Monkees had also come to the airport to see them off, and Deanna and her mother thought it was touching that the four of them were so close. Micky and Mike shook hands with Davy, and Peter hugged him, long and hard. These two had a special bond, and when they let go of each other, their eyes were bright with tears that were held back. Mike and Micky hugged Deanna. Peter's hug was last, and Deanna could almost feel his honest heart beating. It seemed to pulse strength into her. His hug was the most warm and openly affectionate by far. Davy had a good friend here…in all of them… but Peter, well, a certain specialness surrounded him.

As the plane taxied down the runway, Deanna had waved to her mother and the others from the window, hoping her mother could see her, but not the tears that were streaming freely by now. Davy, sitting beside her, took her hand warmly in his. Alone … at last.


	7. Chapter 7

Deanna rested her head on his shoulder as their plane lifted into the sky. To be in Davy's warm presence was all she needed right now. His clothes smelled good. Hell, _he _smelled good. All the time. He kissed the top of her head, monumentally enjoying this slice of peaceful serenity with her after all the frantic craziness of the last two weeks.

"Are you regretting it at all now?" he asked.

"No, in fact, I'm really excited about it. I'm just sentimental about goodbyes, even if it _is _for only two weeks."

Davy had hoisted two suitcases the same size as hers onto the luggage belt along with hers at the airport. She'd had to hide a grin. It was just as she had suspected. And later on, she would see he had packed his suitcases as tightly as possible—same as herself.

Now, dressed in a brown sports jacket, navy blue button down shirt and trousers, he looked at ease and comfortable. He was just classy - there was no room for argument on that. In fact, thinking back, she'd never seen him in a t-shirt.

"I forgot to tell you—my mother asked how old you were, and I had no idea! Can you believe that?"

"What'd you say?"

"Twenty-three."

"You're a little off," he said, producing a comical expression.

_Oh God. _Her first thought was she hoped he was legal. He _did_ have a baby face. Why hadn't she thought of this before? Her heart fluttered a little with trepidation.

"Well, I'm twenty-two," she offered, hoping he'd fess up to his own age.

"Cradle robber!" he cried, scaring her even more. "I'm only twenty-one. Won't be twenty-two until December."

Oh, well that wasn't so bad. At least he was, in fact, legal. As they joked about it, she was aware she was loosening up more all the time, enjoying their banter.

"You're more mature than any twenty-one year old I've ever known," she commented.

"Well, thank you. I've seen quite a bit of life, and that's probably why. I didn't know your last name, and you didn't know my age," he said, laughing at the amusement of it all. The two of them had surely not been conventional. Still weren't. But that was part of the joy of it.

They became a little closer on that flight. Deanna actually felt relaxed, the drug of his nearness offering comfort as they did a little soul searching. He told her about his poor upbringing, yet he also told tales of how much mischief he'd gotten into, how much fun he'd had as a young boy on the streets and wherever else he could find excitement in Manchester. He still had film footage his mother had taken of him climbing around, jumping over things in an alley, a truly sanguine smile on his young face. Ironically, he'd lost his mother at a young age, and she'd lost her father when she was just a few years older than he'd been.

"And that's another thing we have in common… it changes people," he said in a pensive voice. He pondered it for a moment, as she studied his expressive face; watched him turn a page back in time, or really, more like many chapters.

"Things like that make people grow up too fast, and sometimes they become less trusting, more suspicious, sometimes even jaded." She had thought much the same thing many times in the past.

"Out of fear of loss, abandonment," she said. She couldn't help but think of all those girls who hung out at the clubs, waiting for him. And, would he abandon her for one of them? The thought popped up unbidden, even though she'd admonished herself countless times not to let it enter her mind on this trip.

"Yeah, everyone is different in the way they… process it. Some get promiscuous. Some go the other way, and don't want much involvement with others." She wondered if he were hinting at something.

He was observant—maybe he'd seen these traits in her, and she hadn't realized it. He seemed well versed on the subject. She wondered if he'd read about it, or maybe gotten professional help at some point.

"You see, Mike and I have seen hard times. Mike lost his dad very early on. Peter barely scraped by in Greenwich Village, playing his banjo for change in coffee houses, so he's had to be tough too, although you'd never know it to look at him. Micky had it a little easier. More of a normal childhood in Los Angeles. Unfortunately, the way it impacted Mike was to make him sarcastic and brooding. He's unyielding and stubborn too. He sulks at times and he can be gruff, but if you can make him laugh—well then, you're halfway there. I discovered that fairly early on. He's vulnerable, but would never admit it. "

"And how did hard times affect you?" Deanna asked him. Davy wasn't prepared for this question, and was stunned, left speechless for a moment. He thought about dodging it, but no, he wasn't going to lie to her. What was beginning between them was too important to not tell anything but the naked truth.

"I turned to females," he said shyly, looking down and avoiding her eyes. He was really risking his neck, and he didn't take it lightly.

"Oh," Deanna was now even more troubled with thoughts of him finding someone he liked better, and moving on. It was his history, after all…

"A lot of girls?" she asked, already knowing what his answer would likely be.

He nodded. There was a strained silence for a minute or two before he spoke again.

"And you… how did it affect you?" he asked, his brown eyes slowly making their way to her face, climbing inch by inch to her eyes, afraid of what he might see there. Disapproval, that's what he was afraid of. Perhaps disgust too. He'd worked so hard to win her affection, and now this had come up and possibly blown everything out of the water.

"I, um… well, I haven't dated anyone lately and I've become a lot more skeptical, of the world in general, I guess. Reality checks can be brutal."

Davy spoke up. "Everyone does what they have to do, although sometimes people don't even know when they're 'acting out,'" he said, hoping she realized he was not proud of his recent past.

He seemed so sincere, but on the other hand, Deanna didn't know whether he was still in 'furious dating' mode, or if what he had said was true—that his desire for other girls had fizzled out. Sounded like a smooth line to her, but she wanted so much to believe it. But realistically, he wouldn't even have to date—the girls wouldn't require it. They just wanted him, however they could get him. He could just be having "flings," one-night-stands, whatever you wanted to call it. That kind of thing didn't require a lot of time or effort.

Deanna remembered how she'd walked around in a fog for days, weeks, months, then years, not able to accept what had happened to her—that her dad was really gone. The numbness had never really left her. She wondered if his experience had been anything close to that.

They talked about other things too. The five hour flight went by incredibly quick with all their interchange. Davy was an amazing conversationalist. He was refreshing in that she could ask him a direct question, and his answers seemed authentic, above-board. He appeared to be laying things on the line.

He snuck little kisses in whenever he saw the opportunity—whenever the conversation wasn't too deep or emotional. She didn't let on what effect it had on her. How she fought the desire almost continually. The unrelenting flame for him never seemed to go out.

"I'm spiriting you away to another land, where I will proceed to bewitch you," Davy joked. "I can't wait. There's so much waiting for us in Hawaii."

The vacation package, he had told her earlier, included them staying at any of a number of hotels in Honolulu or Maui, the meals at the hotels and/or restaurants were all covered. Davy was leaving what hotel they stayed at up to Deanna, because, frankly, he didn't care where they stayed; just being with her was more than enough. Some places they'd be able to walk to, and for others they could either drive or take the ferry. Neither had ever been to Hawaii. He had decided to wait until later to tell her about his discovery of the island Molokai. Right now, he felt, was too early to bring up the idea of isolation for the two of them. He'd play it by ear. There were a thousand variables, and no rush.

They pored over the travel guide and maps Davy had obtained from the trip sponsor. They studied all the beaches, discussing it, ultimately deciding it looked like they'd prefer to explore Maui, and possibly skip Honolulu altogether. It sounded like Honolulu was more bustling and city-like, whereas Maui was more countryside and peaceful. _All the better,_ thought Davy. It would leave them more time for Molakai, if she should show any interest in going there. They both preferred fewer people, which made the decision practically a no-brainer.

When they landed in Maui, at the Kahului airport, Deanna's breath was literally ripped from her lungs. The humidity struck her hard. Never having been away from California, she hadn't really known what humidity was. The air felt heavy, and now she knew what people meant when they used the word "muggy." She was almost instantly thirsty, and remained that way for the rest of the day.

The atmosphere here was very different from what she was used to. Everyone seemed laid back, like California, but there was an extra "something." Wailuku, served by the Kahului airport, explained Davy, was not like the beaches. It was at the base of a volcano, and not unlike any other city with palm trees. But from here, they could easily reach other areas of the island. The people were all friendly, lots of smiling faces, and many greeted them with an "aloha" when they realized they were tourists.

"Where should we go first?" asked Deanna, sorry she hadn't done the reading on Hawaii that Davy had.

"Did you know there are beaches with pink or black sand?" Davy asked her. Deanna could not imagine a beach with sand of those colors. She'd only seen the tan/gold sand at home.

In the end, they decided to take the road to Hana. It would be a few hour ride, depending on how often they stopped at various sites, and Deanna would be able to see the beaches Davy spoke of. Deanna wasn't sure about doing it on the first day they were there, but Davy insisted he had the energy, if she did. She was game.

They collected their luggage, then went to get the jeep that Davy had reserved for them by phone two weeks ago. Davy made sure they had plenty of water, and they each must have consumed over half a gallon by the time they were halfway to Hana. They laughed that no matter how much they drank, it was difficult to slack their thirst.

"Can you believe it?" he said in excitement that was hardly tamped down. "The trip includes the jeep rental too!" Having had to fight for almost everything in life up until now he truly appreciated all the amenities that came with the trip.

They let their hearts guide them, and vowed not to follow a strict schedule, or really much of a schedule at all. They wanted to just, above all else, have a good time and let the chips fall where they may. Most of all, there would be no time restraints or rushing of any kind.

They got more than they bargained for on the road to Hana. It was quite intimidating in places, looking precarious where it was narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass, in addition to almost constant drop-offs and hairpin turns that had Deanna hanging onto Davy's arm, her pulse thundering. It wasn't for the faint of heart. She trusted Davy—he handled the jeep with confidence. She was just afraid someone else might come around a hairpin turn going too fast.

"Dodgy road, yeah?" said Davy as he chuckled casually.

The information Davy had was that they'd see a lot of beautiful scenery, and some of the best beaches on the island. Hana, which was their destination, was said to be unspoiled, serene and mystical.

They stopped at Twin Falls, the first "marker" for the trip. A little later on, they stopped for some of Hawaii's famous banana bread and coconut juice that they sipped from straws straight from the coconut. The banana bread was so moist it practically melted in their mouths. They also sampled very juicy mango and passion fruit. The kiss they shared afterward was as delicious as the fruit, and put some pretty sensual thoughts into Deanna's head.

Red sand beach required a quick hike, and Davy had read it was prone to mudslides and landslides, so they had to be extra careful. It was also steep in some areas. Davy, being the mountain goat he was, guided Deanna smoothly down and into his arms when she got into a tight spot. Sometimes she had doubts he was acquainted with fear of any kind. The hike down was more than worth it - the scenery was almost magical. They were stunned by the sand that truly was red. "You must be joking!" exclaimed Davy when he first saw it. Deanna's camera got plenty of use.

On to many cliffs, waterfalls and miles and miles of lush rainforest, which was Deanna's favorite of all. All that greenery! She saw many birds-everything from macaws, to boobies to lorikeets, to magpies, and her favorite blooms, orchids, along with all colors of anthurium, and hibiscus. Musa, the banana plants, had majestic, huge leaves that sometimes had maroon patterns mixed in with the green. She'd never seen so many different types of exotic plants in one area, and they stopped a couple of times just to walk for a few minutes and glory in the flora. Her head turned every which way, taking it all in, making Davy smile. Brilliant fuchsia of reds, yellows and pinks, enormous leaves of alocasia and ginger brushed against them as they followed a narrow path. Ferns and bamboo abounded on all sides. This felt like a very beautiful dream that Deanna wanted to last for a very long time. There was discovery everywhere she looked.

There were no fewer than fifty-four bridges on their journey, each one charming in its own way. Near the end of their trip, there was a small black sand beach in Waianapanapa State Park. After a fairly short hike down, where they really had to watch their step, they held hands and walked along the beach, amazed at the colors that were so vivid. What was especially staggering was the contrast of the dark blue water here, black rocks and striking green scenery. It was better than any postcard Deanna had ever seen. After all the eye candy they were seeing on this trip, Deanna wondered if she would ever again look at anything the same.

They went into a cave, not venturing too far in, as Deanna got a little claustrophobic. But when Davy crept up to her, smoothing his hands down her sides and kissed her, the fear melted away. Desire took its place, white hot and so sudden that she grabbed onto Davy, breathless. What she didn't know was that he could have easily fallen to the ground and made love to her right here. He was constantly amorous for her, but, as usual, he had to maintain himself so she wouldn't shy away at his carnality, his thirst, for her.

It didn't take long for Deanna to lose track of the names of all the beaches and other tourist attractions they saw. It had been a very full day, and Deanna, wisely, didn't want to be driving back on that harrowing road in the dark. Davy had to agree. They looked forward to getting back to the hotel near Kahului airport, where they would be staying. They were both dead tired from the long flight and drive, and Davy especially so, as he had been doing all the driving. He also had not liked the way the drive sometimes unsettled Deanna. He didn't want anything but tranquility and serenity for her if he could help it.

The drive back only took two hours because they drove straight through. Kaanapali Beach Hotel was said to have the most Hawaiian atmosphere and décor of any Maui hotel. There was a free hula show every evening. The sunrise was said to be glorious, and the sunsets were something not to be missed.

Their hotel was right on the beach, and as luck would have it, they got to witness the sunset, having arrived just in time. They stood on the lanai of their hotel room and watched the sun go down, taking with it vivid purple, pink and orange hues. It was most impressive, and couldn't have been more perfect for a newly budding romance. The scent of the many potted plumeria plants which lined the balcony filled the air.

There was a full ocean view from their room, and also Black Rock. It looked like a huge bear out there in the water. In the morning they would finally be able to see the turquoise water, for by now it was too dark. They found a complimentary fruit plate on the table, which reminded Deanna of the fruit Davy had brought to the mountains that day. Apples, peaches, bananas and pears, plus a few others. It made both of them smile.

There was a spa and tiki bar at the hotel. It was low-key, just up their alley. It had opened just two years prior, in 1964. It felt very authentic. There was four miles of sandy, swimmable beach. The nearby historic village of Lahaina featured shopping, and Davy reminded Deanna they could get clothes there if she desired.

After sunset, they had dinner at one of the hotel's three restaurants. Deanna noted on the menu that lots of foods here were made with coconut milk. They enjoyed the chicken and seafood, famished by this time. Both were exhausted from their all-day trip, and agreed to spend a quiet day on a beach the next day. Neither one wanted to be the kind of tourists that had to be flitting from place to place for the duration of their vacation. They both had romance on their minds, and that called for low stress levels, and lots of comfort, like beautiful beaches, refreshing drinks, loving hugs and warm gazes.

Davy, once again, had given Deanna the choice of two rooms or one before they entered the hotel, and she'd agreed to one room with two double beds without hesitation. A good compromise. She wouldn't feel right just yet about sleeping in the same bed with him, but surprised herself that it didn't disturb her in the least for them to share a room.

"Maui is forty-eight miles long and twenty-six miles wide," said Davy as they each lounged on their beds, totally wrung out and relishing the restful sound of the waves. Davy was under his sheet, a giddy smile on his face.

"You are an encyclopedia of information about Hawaii!" Deanna laughed.

"Oh, there's loads more I could still learn, believe me," was his answer. "I can't pronounce most of the names of things, and that makes it even harder to learn, and remember. And I'll have forgotten most of it within weeks anyway."

"Well," he resumed after a brief silence. "I've lured you to my lair!" His eyes were bright and merry, despite the exhaustion from their dazzling day.

Deanna laughed and went over easily, unselfconsciously to his bed, sitting on it and smiling down at him.

"You have, indeed," she agreed. He pulled her down on top of him before she even had a chance to resist—as if she would have. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he gently nibbled her bottom lip instead. This got her even hotter than if he'd gone into a full-blown, deep kiss. It made her hungry for more.

"Do you know how many times I wanted to just pull the jeep over today, and kiss you silly?" he asked.

"What is it?" she asked, propping herself on an elbow. She'd spied him catching his bottom lip between his teeth, and knew he was focusing on something.

"I really would like to read your story," he said. "You wouldn't have, by any chance, brought it along, would you?"

_He'd seen it._ She'd opened one of her suitcases to get her make-up remover and Noxzema when she'd gone to the bathroom to get ready for bed, and it had been in that suitcase, sitting on top.

"Yes, I did. But not tonight. You're worn out, and so am I. We'll have plenty of time for that in the next two weeks."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'd like to read it when my mind is fresh… Let's wait until tomorrow." His words had been measured, and she tried to unearth why. Why tomorrow when they had two weeks?

He answered her without a word from her being necessary. "I want to read it soon. It's a romance, and I'm curious to see how you wrote it…I mean, I want to see… how you view romance…get into your mind," he was having trouble articulating it, but she got the idea. He wanted to know what she liked, and she gave him a lot of credit for being on the ball enough to realize he'd gain a whole lot of her perspective on the subject by reading her story. He had a genuine interest in her. In any case, she was flattered, honored.

She'd gotten a glimpse inside his suitcases as well. He had an array of blazers, sport jackets, shirts and sweaters, a couple pairs of jeans and even a couple of silk ties. She thought she'd seen a scarf or two also. Things you could mix and match. He was quite a whiz with clothes.

All her senses were saturated right now as their eyes met and held for intense moments. Her sight was filled with his face, the dark hair that fell over his forehead and into his thick eyebrows, those full, perfect lips that must have been created with kissing in mind.

Hearing the the ocean waves, which, went spent, sent their remnants gently lapping on the sand, was incredibly restful. She could smell the plumeria blooms on the lanai whose fragrance was carried in by the ocean breeze through the open glass door—the breeze that was cooling on this warm night. And now for touch—she leaned over and buried her face in his neck. His sharp intake of breath excited her. His skin was smooth, and she let her lips caress it languidly, the way he'd done to her on other occasions. Taste came last. Her tongue licked softly at his neck as she kissed it. A faint salty tang reminded her of all the beaches they'd sampled and gotten sprayed lightly with ocean foam.

His breathing grew rapid.

"Oh God," he said softly. She ran her tongue and lips over his Adam's apple and to the other side.

"Ugh…" he grunted, not able to hold it in, and without thinking, lowered the sheet so his torso was exposed. He was in only his underwear, she in a nightgown that was a little bit of a let-down because it wasn't as revealing as he would have liked. He'd undressed in here while she'd been in the bathroom. Her braless breasts pressed against his bare chest, and he was reminded of their day at Mt. Baldy when he'd felt her erect nipples. Only this time, he had solid proof it wasn't because of her clothes being wet. It was he who was causing it.

His arousal climbed to even greater heights, and he was glad he had underwear on and a sheet covering him. If he'd had no underwear on, the sheet would have been embarrassingly tented. And yes, that would have been awkward. They were both adults, but still—he didn't want to appear naughty, even though he was exceedingly so.

"I think I'd better get into my bed," she said a minute later.

The inflection in his voice when he commented, "You're welcome to stay here," emphasized he didn't expect her to. And that is what made her stay. Women were contrary, for sure. It was simply the fact that he didn't beg or plead, or even nudge the slightest bit for her to stay that prompted her to _want_ to stay. He may have known the tricks, and he may have utilized them somewhat, but manipulation was not his goal. His goal was her willingness. Absolute willingness, with no faltering. That was the only way he wanted her.

She tried to drag her eyes away from his exposed chest and biceps as she sat up, and then slipped under the sheet with him. He could have cried out for joy, but instead he sharply disciplined his mannerisms to a casual air.

"I didn't bring my pajamas," he said apologetically. "All of us at the Pad have rather… should I say, _interesting_ pajamas. We're silly," he said, as if in explanation. "And when I don't wear my pajamas, like in spring or summer when it's warm, I wear my underwear…" he was rambling on, and he knew it, but she had just said she was going to go back to her bed, and was now under the sheet with him, bewildering him, causing him to blather. But he also knew enough to be aware that women often pulled fast ones on you when you least expected it. He also didn't want her to be expecting pajama bottoms, only to feel his bare legs… good thing he wasn't sleeping nude, as he sometimes did at the Pad when it was hot. And that was _definitely_ better left unsaid.

She snuggled up to him, seeming to sympathize with his predicament. Actually, she thought it was impossibly cute that he was babbling. Davy… the suave, poised one was running at the mouth, trying to fill empty silences that might become problematic. Somehow it was comforting, consoling that she was the one who was composed for once.

Deanna began to luxuriate under the sheet, turning onto her back, and, like a cat, she wriggled around, savoring the bed after the bumpy jeep ride that had lasted most of the day. This was a slice of Heaven for her. Not only the soft bed, but Davy in it! Little did she know she was driving Davy to the brink of madness. She looked so sexy, sighing and moaning as she stretched and relished the comfort. He could imagine her moving under him in that way…oh boy. Better not to have those thoughts. He was aching badly enough in his nether region to begin with.

"Enjoying yourself?" Davy said, the inflection in his voice quiet, almost silken.

"Just basking in the wonderfulness." She saw the tenderness and the desire in his eyes as he watched her.

Deanna hoisted herself up on her elbow, above him again, and her hair fell onto his face. He didn't brush it away. Hell no. He breathed the fragrance deeply into his lungs, nuzzled his nose into her fair locks. They were cheek to cheek now, and Davy felt her fingers interlocking in his hair on the back of his neck. He twisted his head sideways, stealing her lips, kissing her with a fierceness that he hadn't known was in him. She dithered for just a moment, then draped herself over his chest, lavishing everything back on him that he was giving her.

There was a catch in her throat. They'd never kissed on a bed. Actually, _in _a bed, both of them being under the sheet. That certainly qualified.

Davy was beginning his irresistible kisses, and that was when she realized the possible consequences of her going to his bed. It had been innocent only a few minutes ago. Now, not so much. It had happened that quickly, and that all-consumingly. The kisses were deep, and Deanna didn't have a whole lot of fight left in her.

Disturbingly delicious thoughts were jumbled in her mind. Where did his mouth end and hers begin? She couldn't tell anymore. Her hands were buried in his long, soft cocoa colored hair. She started to dwell on the thought of how it draped over his collar by a couple of inches, always making her want to tunnel her fingers through it. She'd looked at it all day today, and fought an inner battle to keep from touching him. Otherwise, she might have never stopped touching him.

Davy was thinking of how her gray eyes had run over him today, and he knew she didn't realize she was staring. She was engaged, really listening to his every word, watching his reactions to things she said, her eyes frequently observing his lips. He saw it all, and he knew what it meant.

He remembered her hair falling forward gracefully as she bent to look at a flower earlier today; he'd brushed it back over her shoulder just so he could have a reason to make physical contact. He doubted she knew how he struggled to appear cool, unconcerned. But the blood of his healthy young male body pulsed hot through him with a need that almost took over, almost taking charge over his actions.

Now, he battled the urge to roll her over onto her back. If he did that… he didn't think he'd be able to govern himself sufficiently to remain a gentleman. And he being a gentleman was what she needed most right now. That trust he'd so diligently earned must not be challenged.

The kiss had gone on for a long time when Deanna pulled away. He saw that her eyes were dilated, and he knew his probably were too. Her nightgown caressed her curves as she sat up. Clung to her breasts, her shape. The way the light was situated to the side of her, he could almost see through it. But not quite… and that frustrated him almost to his limits. To the point of wanting to grasp it and draw it down, so he could see... He'd never be that crude though. It astounded him that he was so aroused. He'd seen plenty of girls in nightgowns, and girls _without _nightgowns, see-through nightgowns, or stark naked, and not one of them had done to him what Deanna did.

"I'm tired," she said because she didn't know what else to say, sensing his penetrating eyes on her, feeling the warmth rising in her cheeks.

"Well, remember, California time is three hours ahead, so even though its ten here, it's one o'clock in the morning at home."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that."

"What time do you want me to wake you tomorrow morning?" he asked.

"Oh, about seven or eight?" she said, inserting a question mark into her tone.

"Sounds about right," he said. "We can have a nice breakfast. You'd better get some sleep," he added. This was good… it would give him a chance to regain control, knock a little sense into himself.

She leaned over then, and reached to turn out the light on the bedside table. In the near darkness, he could see her silhouette against a backdrop of the silvery, sparkling ocean, and above that, an orange moon. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his life.

Then she did something that astonished him. She laid down … beside him. Didn't go to her own bed. Cuddled up to him under the sheet, laid her head on his chest, just as if she had done this kind of thing with him many times before.

_And he'd worried about her trust, and gaining it. It seemed she'd turned the corner on that one. But how in hell was he supposed to sleep_? Now that he thought about it, he'd never slept in a bed with a girl without having sex with her. They were both tired, but still… his hormones apparently had a lot more influence on him than the need for sleep.

He laid there, wide awake, listening to her breathing, which didn't change. He waited for the soft, deep intake of breath that would indicate she had probably dropped off into slumber. But it didn't come. She was still awake—he knew it. Was she feeling as he was? Overcome with desire, need?

Suddenly, after maybe an hour, Deanna slowly rose and slipped out of his bed, and into her own. She didn't offer an explanation, didn't ask if he was awake. He didn't dare ask her why she was leaving either. The answer might be painful.

Deanna felt the hot tears prickling behind her eyes. She'd been doing fine until the silence had come when they'd stopped talking. That was when the thoughts had begun to intrude again. Like little soldiers, they'd infiltrated her mind. Thoughts of the groupies, thoughts of all the girls he'd more or less admitted to sleeping with. Thoughts of how many _more_ girls that were certainly in his future.

_What was she doing in bed with him then?_

Reason called harshly to her, and as much as she wanted to stay with him, she couldn't. She wasn't going to let him play with her heart, and end up breaking it like he'd probably done to God knew how many girls before her.

"I'm still awake…" he said into the silence, not sure what else to say. No answer. He didn't know that she was softly crying into her pillow…


	8. Chapter 8

"G'Morning, luv," gentle fingers threaded and weaved into her hair. Deanna screwed up her eyes against the bright morning sun flooding into the room, squinting into Davy's eyes, realizing she really_ hadn't_ dreamed it all—she actually was in Hawaii with Davy. And God, but he was chipper in the morning! His face was nothing but a huge, open-mouthed smile. Then the embarrassment of last night came back to her in a rush.

She'd acted with extremely poor judgment. First, getting into bed with him, and then, with no explanation, leaving and getting into her own bed. Not answering him when he'd spoken to her. Childish—that's what she'd been. She was ashamed of her conduct.

Yet, here he was, looking handsome as ever, (why was his hair rarely ever messed up?) acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Accepting her anyway, and doing it all with a smile. Pleasant and cheerful, when he should be demanding what in hell was wrong with her, why she'd treated him that way. In his eyes, she probably appeared to be a tease. A prick tease—that's what Cassie would call her actions. He didn't know the real reason she'd left his bed last night. She owed him a clarification, at the very least.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry about last night," she began. "It's personal, nothing to do with you."

"Oh… um….I didn't take offense," he said. That wasn't entirely true. He'd been hurt, yes. But by now he'd known for a long time that women were mysterious beings, with emotions that could top out with little notice, and oftentimes they had perplexing motives. They required real finesse at these times. He knew something was unresolved between them, and he hoped that in time, she would explain.

"No big deal. You want to talk about it sometime, I'm always willing. So put it out of your mind for now. You hungry?" His eyes lit up as if he were a little boy anticipating pancakes. She had to giggle.

"I'm going to go take a shower while you wake up. Just wanted to be sure I got you up on time," and Davy disappeared into the bathroom. The clock on one of the bedside tables said exactly 8AM. Davy was nothing if not punctual. She suspected he'd been up for a while, but had been quiet so as not to disturb her. She yawned and stretched, went out on the lanai and looked down at the blindingly white sand and that gorgeous turquoise water that looked as clear as a mirror, even from here.

Fifteen minutes later, Davy stuck his head out of the bathroom door.

"Deanna? Can you hand me some jeans?" he asked. "I forgot to bring 'em in here, damn it."

She pushed back a laugh, and grabbed a pair of jeans out of the suitcase he had laid open on the floor. They were folded impeccably, not a wrinkle in them, creases right where they should be. The thought of underwear occurred to her, but no way was she going to mention it. Only if he asked for some.

"What shirt?" she asked.

"I dunno. I'll decide when I come out." He took the jeans from her with a hearty thank you and his head vanished back into the bathroom. She'd caught a glimpse of him with the towel around his waist, barely covering him, and almost died on the spot. How did he get such an even tan? She saw no tan marks. She wondered if he ever sun bathed in the nude. But how? On Malibu, he'd surely be seen, even if he were on the deck she'd seen from the beach. She'd only viewed the Pad from afar, as Davy still hadn't asked her into his home. She assumed it hadn't been presentable. Who cleaned? Who cooked? Who washed the dishes? Her curiosity was sparked.

She saw he had already hung up his blazers, sports jackets, sweaters and shirts. Now she felt like he must think her not well organized, so she hung up her clothes while she waited for him.

He emerged in his jeans. Barefoot, wet hair and all. A very pleasant and enticing aroma of soap and shampoo followed him. She almost fell over. He might as well have been naked, for the effect he had on her. He smiled, his eyes meeting hers frankly, openly, as he slid a shirt from a hanger. A purple pullover that looked like a combination of corduroy, velvet and velour. A fashion king, that was him. It had had a zippered front. He pulled it over his head, zipping it up halfway. _Oh God._ She was suddenly ravenously hungry, but sadly, not for breakfast. Or maybe not so sadly. She wanted his body—what a feast. Davy for breakfast. She stopped in mid-giggle when she saw he was looking at her curiously.

"What?" he asked. "Do I look goofy in this?"

"Um, no. Quite the opposite. I was having some…ahem… inappropriate thoughts about you in those clothes."

His face went from befuddled to good-humored to heated up. She read the emotions as clearly as if they were written on him. "Don't ask me what enters my mind about you sometimes, because I might get myself in deep crap." He slapped his thigh, bent over, and laughed heartily. He looked up at her to be sure she wasn't offended, and she stepped forward, pulling the zipper on his pullover down a little more-to his mid chest. _Sexy._ She was delighted to find he didn't zip it back up to where it was previously, instead, leaving it where she'd placed it.

"Are we still going to laze on the beach today?" she asked.

"Of course! Or whatever you want…" he sounded tentative, and again she felt guilty about last night. He hadn't a clue why she'd acted like that, and it wasn't fair of her not to tell him. But she'd already told him before about how the girls bothered her, and she'd only be repeating herself. And rubbing salt into her own wound.

"I have to call my mother this morning so she'll know I'm alright, and Cassie too."

"Okay. I'll call the guys too. We can do that now, or after breakfast, whatever works for you." He was trying _so hard_ to make her happy. Her heart hurt to see him like that. She inhaled, bit the bullet and called her mother from the hotel room. She knew there would be a relentless stream of questions. And there was. Her mother wanted to know all about yesterday, so Deanna indulged her, leaving out no details, describing everything they'd seen, and by the time she got off the phone, she didn't think it had been quite the chore she had feared. Her mother was obviously happy for her, and even told her she thought "that Davy boy" was the most polite, sweetest thing. "A real catch."

Cassie, of course, immediately wanted to know if they'd shared a room almost as soon as they began to speak. Deanna laughed.

"Yes, Cassie. We did."

Cassie gasped. "I never thought you'd do it! Did you guys make it?"

"No! Cassie!" Exasperated, Deanna explained there were two beds in the room.

When she finally got off the phone, Davy's face was studiously focused on her. "Anything you want to share?" he asked, only having heard Deanna's side of the conversation, and hearing the part about two beds had him feeling very inquisitive.

"My mother thinks you're polite, sweet, and a real catch. Cassie… wanted to know… well, never mind," Deanna was blushing again.

"I can only imagine," smiled Davy. "I like her personality though. I got the impression she's pretty frank and outspoken."

"You're soooooo right. She's a great friend, but she has to know _everything._ And she loves to give advice too. Especially about guys. And actually, most of it is pretty good, even though she's a little more…outgoing than I am. Well, I'll take my shower now, if you're done in there."

"You're not gonna call Derrick?" Davy didn't know what made him say that, and he mentally slapped himself in the face.

"Oh, not for a couple of days," she said breezily, not perturbed in the least by his question. Well, now at least it seemed he was more important to her than Derrick. Even if she_ was_ mad at him… or upset with him… about something. And even though she'd said it wasn't about him, he still wasn't convinced. He'd been as proper, as honorable as he could possibly be last night with her in bed with him. Yet _something _had triggered her retreat.

While she showered, Davy called the guys, and when Deanna got out of the shower, she wasn't surprised that he was still talking to Peter. Peter would say something, and Davy would burst into laughter. Deanna wondered what the blond was saying. Their camaraderie was palpable, even on the phone.

At the restaurant, Davy decided to try a true Hawaiian breakfast—Portuguese sausage, eggs and rice.

This did not sound appetizing to Deanna, who decided on the Hawaiian French toast. It was also known as Portuguese sweet bread. They both also had Kona coffee, which they had to admit was pretty good. It was creamy, smooth and sweet, with a hint of chocolate, although not actually chocolaty. It also made for a very nice kiss afterward.

After breakfast, Davy insisted they go back to their hotel room to get her story so he could read it on the beach. Deanna decided to take a nap on the beach, she said, as she hadn't slept much last night. She said this last part in a taciturn kind of way. So, he supposed, she still wasn't ready to be forthcoming about what was bothering her.

"Neither did I," said Davy. "I'm used to it though, with all our practicing and late-night gigs. So I'll just read it while you nap."

Once on the sand, their towels spread out side by side, Deanna stripped off her swim suit cover-up, and Davy's eyes got a special treat. One he preferred even over the vivid blue ocean. He knew that she saw the appreciation in his expression, although he was decent enough to look sheepish about it.

He liked how her breasts were well shaped and medium sized, her waist dipping in, her nice, rounded butt and shapely thighs and calves, all coming together to entice him in the worst—or best—way.

Deanna woke up an hour later, and Davy was nearly halfway through her story. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration. It was a novella—only one hundred fifty pages long. Still, he was a fast reader. Either that, or he was skimming it, she wasn't sure. She was very on edge about him reading it, but she feigned indifference. There was too much of herself in that story. Some of it was sensual as well. It was more of an erotic romance than anything. The budding of the romance was the focus, but there were a couple of love scenes that made her blush to think of him reading them. She wrote them the way she felt love scenes _should_ be, which hadn't, by the way, been her experience. She hoped the story didn't sound insensible because of her lack of knowledge.

She did some people watching for the next hour or so, as he finished it. When he had completed the story, he looked up. She wanted to hold her breath, she was so anxious to hear what he would say about it.

"Impressive," he said softly. "Beautifully written. It… um… surprised me."

"How so?" she tried to act casual, like her stomach hadn't jumped up into her throat, strangling her with nervousness. Every one of her nerve endings was zinging.

"Well… how do I say this? I don't know how to describe my feelings about it…"

_What in the world could he mean?_

"In a bad way, or a good way?" she asked.

"Oh, good, of course. I just… didn't know you were so…passionate. Well, I mean, I _do_ know that…I mean, I've seen signs of it, when we kiss…but the…details…" his voice trailed off.

He was talking about the love scenes—she was almost certain of it. Or maybe a combination of that and the strong sentiments.

"Did you enjoy it though?" she was digging for his gut reaction.

"Oh, without a doubt, I did. Some parts of it… affected me … strongly."

"What parts?" She couldn't help it. She had to know.

He was tempted to tell her what parts of his_ body_ were affected, but decided, wisely, not to.

"The emotions, the closeness of the couple," he was straining at the bit to explain how the story had made him feel without sounding shallow and single-minded, because it was true he had greatly enjoyed the love scenes. But it was also true he'd really dug the communication, the intimacy between the people in the story, both in _and _out of bed. He liked their free, easy, yet very attentive relationship. It described the rare kind of relationship he himself had dreamed of. Maybe that was why he was so tongue-tied.

"The guy in the story is always a gentleman," he went on. "Maybe I at least got_ that_ part right, yeah?"

He was referring to the way he conducted himself around her, and he was absolutely right.

"Yes, and that is why I came to Hawaii with you. It was a big deal for me to accept."

"I'm a bit of a romantic myself," he explained. "Well, more than a _bit_ of a romantic, I have to confess. I call myself a daydream believer. I'm always daydreaming about romance."

"That's the name of one of your songs!" she said, excitement lacing her voice.

"Yes, and that's where the song comes from—it's a reflection of me. Well, not completely, since I'm not a homecoming queen." He laughed. "But I'll be your white knight on his steed."

_Was he for real?_ _Was this whole conversation for real?_ He sounded like something out of a novel.

"What parts, specifically, did you like the most?" she asked again. She knew she was pouring it on very heavily, but she really, really wanted to know his genuine opinion.

"When they got along well," he said without hesitation. "And… when they were alone...the affection."

She had to give him points for honesty. At least she hadn't been super explicit in her writing, she thought to herself with a sigh of relief.

"So, it's not all because you lost your dad, is it?" he asked suddenly, jarring her. This was completely unexpected.

_How did he know that? He'd picked it up from her story, obviously. Somewhere, somehow, in that story, he'd seen that there were good reasons for her being soured on men. Real men, most of them, didn't act like the one in the story._

"I guess not," she admitted reluctantly.

"You can learn a helluva lot about people from their writing, and you know that, so I'm a bit surprised you let me read it at all."

A pause. "So am I," she said candidly.

"So are we talking about more trust developing, I hope?" he asked.

"I think so…"

"The emotions expressed in the story tell me you've had a hard time with guys." She'd known this would be the next thing to come from his lips, or something akin to it. It was obvious by now that he _hadn't _skimmed over the story.

"Yeah, I use three words to describe my dating history—cheaters, bums and stalkers. That's a summation of my dating life. But how did you get that from the story?"

"It's behind a lot of what you say in your writing. I sensed rancor there. A person has only to read between the lines."

She was astonished. Cassie had read the story and hadn't remarked on that part of it. Or maybe, just maybe, Cassie wasn't interested in the deeper aspects.

"Sounds that bitter?" she asked him.

"Well, like I said, a person has to really pay attention, but it's all there if you analyze it. I kinda dissected it, you know?"

She fell into silence, still dazed by how insightful he'd been.

Unfazed, Davy dug deeper. "So you think that's what all guys are? Cheaters, bums and stalkers?"

She laughed. "Of course not. But it's what I always seem to end up with. I seem to attract them like flies. Therefore, my lack of a dating life."

A little later, they went to shop for some clothes for Deanna. She only wanted to buy a couple of outfits. Even so, she didn't know how she'd get them in her suitcase. Davy had put a tank top on with his jeans before they left the beach, and it was a full time job to keep her eyes off him. He was having equal trouble not ogling her in her sundress. He unconsciously kept trying to position himself to see if he could see anything through it, without her noticing. He was good at it—he'd been practicing stuff like that since he was a little kid. He had liked girls, and had been looking at them for as long as he could remember. He smiled to himself as he remembered his very first kiss. It had taken place on the slide on the school playground in the first grade. He and the little girl had slid down together, perfectly innocent, until they'd landed almost on top of each other at the bottom, and then it had just _happened. _After that, he never could seem to get enough of girls.

"Did you hear the music from the tiki bar last night?" he asked as they browsed through racks of clothes.

"Yeah, faintly. It sounded like fun."

"I thought so too. Would you like to go down there for a while tonight?"

"Oh, now I get it! You want to see the hula show!" she accused, grinning so he wouldn't take offense.

"Well now, if _you_ were to put on a hula show all by yourself… yeah, I'd like that." Smooth. He always knew the right thing to say. If only she could bring herself to tell him why she had treated him the way she had last night…

_Holt shit, but this conversation was anything but mundane!_ He was enjoying it to the hilt. She was actually playing, ribbing him. And she was taking it right back from him too. If things kept up like this, he might be able to get to reach the _real _Deanna. Not the one that was on guard all the time, watching her every word. He wanted more of the Deanna that he'd had too-swift glimpses of here and there. Like when they were kissing, or cuddling. Or when she'd gripped his arm when they drove on that unnerving road to Hana, joking about it despite her fear. The rest of the time he got the feeling that just about everything that came out of her mouth was calculated. It was these rare glimpses of her inner self that he craved.

He didn't care what the subject was, either. Whether it was dating, hobbies, sex, love, food, her writing—anything that was important to her, close to her heart, he wanted to know about it. Anything that got the juices flowing, turned on the passion, so he could get a little of a peek into her soul.

She loved what she ended up buying. Or rather, what _Davy _ended up buying. He had picked both outfits out, holding them up for her inspection. The first was a straight white sweater dress in lambswool with a belt that Davy found very enticing, as it brandished her curves. The second was a pink hippie Boho summer dress. It was strapless, a style she had never worn before, but she found she felt comfortable in that it wouldn't suddenly decide to slip down at any moment. She was self -conscious when modeling the outfits for Davy, but all she got from him was encouragement, making it a lot easier. Davy picked out a colorful Hawaiian shirt for himself with swirls of blue, white and pink. He was the kind of person, because of his abundance of confidence, who could wear just about anything and get away with it. He was _style._

"I could have bought these. I brought money, remember?" she protested as they walked away from the store.

"Deanna, I brought money too, plus the vacation came with one thousand dollars spending money, remember? We're loaded!"

She'd forgotten that part. Spending money hadn't exactly been on her mind. When she was with Davy it was almost impossible to think about anything else. She'd never been materialistic anyway. With all their expenses paid though, they could buy some nice souvenirs. Deanna knew Davy would get something for each of his roommates, and she decided she would too. And of course, Cassie and her mother. Oh no! Suitcase space again! Perhaps they'd end up buying another one while they were here just for that kind of thing.

They went back to the beach after that, finding some gorgeous shells that Deanna decided she had to keep. Davy found a particularly lovely one, presenting it to her, and as he put it into her hand, the touch of their fingers lingered, setting off sparks that skimmed down her spine. She felt like putty.

* * *

"I miss David," complained Peter for about the fifth time that day.

"Cool it, Pete. He'll be back, man. You know that." Mike wasn't harsh with Peter. He knew Peter had a connection to David, and the only time the bassist had been away from him was when Davy occasionally went to England. Mike didn't quite understand the tie the two of them had, but he knew Peter felt things acutely because he was such a sensitive boy, and Davy was especially compassionate with all things large and small. So their closeness was really an inevitable thing. Something that had a natural feel. Peter had grown attached to David rapidly and never missed an opportunity to spend time with him.

"I hope they're having lots of fun," Peter murmured, and Mike knew he was sincere. If Peter had had a girlfriend, Mike was sure Peter would have considered going along with Davy and Deanna. Or at least asked if they wanted him to come along. He'd give them their space, of course, but at least he'd be able to be nearer to Davy than two thousand miles away.

They didn't have any gigs lined up, and if they did get any while David was gone, Mike hoped fervently the audience, and especially the girls, wouldn't be too disappointed that Davy wouldn't be there. He was, after all, the front man and the main attraction. Sometimes Mike really did wonder how much the girls actually liked the music, or if their primary reason for showing up at gigs was to stare at the percussionist's face and scream when he danced or even so much as grinned or winked at them.

The Pad did seem to be missing something. The halls seemed empty with a lost energy. The sound of fleet bare feet scurrying down the stairs on the way to the beach, the colorful British cussing fits that occasionally occurred, even the tambourine solos. The boy had beautiful time—that's what Peter always said. Mike silently agreed with Peter that, until Davy came back, the Pad would feel very fragmented.

* * *

As they did their exploring on the beach that day, both were still a little off balance from the action packed day before, the lack of sleep, and the misunderstanding that remained stubbornly between them.

The tiki bar that night was entertaining. Davy wore his new Hawaiian shirt and bell bottoms. Deanna wore her new sweater dress. She was sneaky, and watched Davy out of the corner of her eye when the hula girls were dancing. She liked how he was matter-of-fact in his reaction to the dancing girls. He watched them, and she did see appreciation in his eyes, but his gaze always came back to her. He let her know without a doubt that she was the only one he was really interested in.

The hula dancers were quite taken with Davy. As they moved around the floor, several of them spent a little too much time dancing directly in front of him. He handled it with poise, smiling at them, but at the same time, sitting as close to Deanna as he could get, holding her hand or keeping his arm around her. He sent out a clear message – I'm enjoying watching the dancing, but _I'm with her._ He didn't have roving eyes either, when other girls were on the dance floor.

They had a few drinks. Deanna had a ginger margarita and a Mai Tai. Davy had a Lava Flow or two. All the drinks here seemed to be fruity and sweet. Deanna imagined they would leave a fierce hangover in their wake, so she didn't overindulge. They wanted to try the Blue Hawaii cocktail too, but that would have to be saved for another day. It might have been too much with their lack of sleep, and mixing drinks was never a good idea anyway.

Deanna was amazed at how warm it was outside at night. She didn't even need to dawn a sweater, or Davy a jacket. The temperature rarely dropped more than ten degrees at night here, claimed Davy, quoting what he'd read. In Southern California it wasn't unusual to get a thirty to forty degree drop at night, or even more, depending on the time of year. They danced for a while, and Davy's scorching hot gaze told her exactly when he started thinking about going back to their room. She was beginning to be able to read him. He wanted more kissing. But unless they discussed why she had gotten upset last night, they were both concerned it might happen again, and she couldn't bear to think of a repeat of hurting him like that. Neither one aired their concerns out loud, so that wedge persisted between them.

Davy wasn't sure what either of them was afraid of. What was on her mind? Was she thinking he'd be a cheater, a bum, or stalker? Is that why she'd left his bed last night? Or was she just afraid of intimacy? Did she think he'd gone to sleep, and wasn't turned on by her? Nothing could be further than the truth. He'd tried to make her happy, honor her wishes. He wanted to get to the bottom of it, but it could easily turn very touchy if he brought it up. Hopefully she would, but he wasn't going to lay any bets on it.

The slow dances were Heavenly. Deanna couldn't get enough of the feel of him up close, and he drank her in as well. He wanted to just soak her up into his skin. Some of the patrons were watching them with wistful looks in their eyes. Deanna felt warm and relaxed, but she knew it was the drinks that had done it. She could tell Davy was loving the fact that she wasn't her usual uptight self. In truth, she loved it too. Why couldn't she relax like this all the time? She seemed to only be able to let go now and then. But tonight… things were coming so much easier to her. _The drinks._ _False courage, that's what it was._ She knew it, yet she hoped some of it would rub off on her permanently. Worry was her constant companion, and she still had those_ fans_ of his on her mind.

When they went back to their room after the searingly hot slow dances, Deanna felt lighter than air.

He was sporting a carefree façade, but underneath he was cautious. Wariness hovered over him. Guardedly optimistic would best describe him. An easy smile, but a hesitant approach.

Deanna went into the bathroom to slip into another nightgown she'd brought—one that was a little more daring. Had she been completely sober, she wouldn't have selected the gown. It was a babydoll style with a low cut front, and slightly longer than the average babydoll. Tasteful yet beckoning. Maybe eight or nine inches above the knee, but the most enticing part was that it was more sheer than the one she'd worn last night. Not completely sheer, but close enough. A little more suggestion.

"Oh, Davy," she said from the bathroom. "Can you grab my toothpaste from the side pocket in my open suitcase please?"

"Sure," Davy went to retrieve the toothpaste, and couldn't find it at first. When he spied the pocket, he unzipped it and stuck his hand inside. He grabbed something firm, and thinking it was the toothpaste, pulled it out. What he saw hit him like a bombshell. His mouth gaped open, and for once, the usually chatty Davy was speechless.

It wasn't toothpaste at all—it was a …. vibrator! All that came into his mind, over and over was, _Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God._

He didn't know whether to fall down laughing his guts out, be serious about it, or stuff it back in, pretending he hadn't seen it. These devices, in the sixties were usually sold as "body massagers," as in for sore muscles, but Davy was no dummy. He seen them before in catalogs. Sure, there were bonafide body massagers available, but not in this _shape._ Phallus shape. He was no stranger to this form of stimulation for women. He just couldn't get past the shock that Deanna not only had one, but had brought it along on their trip! He shook his head with a smile.

"Well? Did you find it?" she called from the bathroom. Put on the spot like this, there was only one thing he could do.

"The side pocket. I unzipped it, and here it is," he handed it to her through the crack in the door when she opened it, then braced himself for some kind of violent uproar.

There was a moment of pure silence that unnerved him. The kind of silence that could be ear piercing in its absolute hush.

Then, "Davy! Oh my God! Oh my God!" And that was all she said for several minutes. A long string of them, just as the same phase had streamed through his brain. Then the silence was back. He knew she had to be mortified and was trying to collect herself. Then he heard what his ears could not believe—she was laughing! Soft giggling that got louder, then turned into snorts, and then morphed into the "throw your head back and let loose" kind of laughter.

Deanna threw her robe on over her nightgown and forced herself to exit the bathroom. Facing him after this was way past embarrassing. No use in fishing for excuses, because there were absolutely none. Her secret was out.

"Wrong side pocket! The toothpaste is on the other side!" she said, jamming the vibrator back into its rightful place, zipping it closed, and unzipping the pocket on the opposite side. By now, Davy was out of control. He'd heard her laughter, and that was all it took to set him off. His ridiculously cute giggle got her laughing again, and the relief in the room was palpable. If they could laugh about it, maybe they could overcome whatever other obstacles they had, Davy thought with a glimmer of hope.

He tried to say he was sorry twice, but both times he couldn't get the words out because the laughter kept overriding it. She grabbed the toothpaste and went back into the bathroom. By the time she came out, she had herself fairly well disciplined. He proceeded to go brush his own teeth, and returned in his own robe.

"I'm so damn embarrassed…" she began.

He proceeded with wariness, not wanting to let this thing backslide. "But you have to admit… it's funny," he countered as he tested the waters.

"I know… but when something like that happens… in our position… it's beyond awkward."

"I know. Years from now though, we'll see it as nothing but hilarious," he said as he sat down on her bed where she laid on her back, her hand covering her crimson face, still fighting sticky crumbs of embarrassment that refused to be brushed away.

_Years from now?_

Did he expect them to be together years from now? The mere thought of being his girlfriend terrified her in a way because that meant vulnerability, possibly getting hurt.

"It's a natural thing," and she knew he was still talking about the vibrator. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"So… you don't think I'm… _perverted _or something?"

He laughed. "No! Of course not. I'm actually impressed, really," was his unexpected response.

She was almost afraid to ask. "Why?"

"You are woman enough to pursue what you want…and need…in this case, a vibrator." The corners of his mouth tipped upward.

Davy took a deep breath and plunged into unknown, and potentially, dangerous territory. As long as they were on the subject…and the vibrator had facilitated it, reasoned Davy, this was the time to bring it up. The "S" word. Sex. Deanna seemed so uptight, and he _needed_ to ascertain why.

"Let me talk to you for a minute. Please don't run away or get upset. While we're on the subject…you see, I love sex," said Davy frankly, causing her to gasp. "Absolutely_ love_ it. But, at this stage in my life, I've changed. Now it has to be with someone who is special to me. Otherwise I get the most awful urge to just tell a girl to leave afterward..."

_What did this have to do with a vibrator?_ But no matter—at least they were talking about it.

"Oh, and I don't feel threatened by the vibrator either," he said, a slow tease in his wicked looking grin.

All his comment about leaving a girl afterward did was remind her of him with one of those groupie girls, or any girl that found him attractive, and it brought with it that niggling feeling of threat. It galled her to think of sharing him with anyone.

"So… are we… dating?" she asked.

He smiled. "Deanna, we've been dating." He leaned over and kissed her neck. "For a while."

She shivered with the sensuality of his lips on her skin. Much more of this, and she just might slip into orgasm. "So you haven't…you haven't been going out with anyone else?" She was afraid of his answer, but she had to know.

"Not since I got "obsessed" with you at the library," he said with no trace of hesitation. "I tried once, granted, after I'd seen you there, at the library, but I got that urge I was telling you about to tell her to leave afterward. Of course I didn't, but I was never so relieved when she was gone. That was the last time."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Yes! Damn it, Deanna. We've had this discussion before. You've had some real asses in your life. Haven't you? Do you need to talk about it in order to feel comfortable with me?"

"'Maybe, but…"

She was beginning to fear he was angry with her, when he'd shown nothing but patience in the past. His face gave away his growing agitation.

She'd ignored every guy that had flirted her for the last year. Every single one. But Davy was different somehow. He'd gotten through to her like no one else had been able to. His personality contradicted itself, but in a nice way that was very appealing. He was sexy but sensitive. Strong but gentle. Easy going but intense.

"And now it begins, with needles and pins," he said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"That I have to be careful what I say and do. It's some song lyrics I thought of. Mike sometimes needs help, so I'm always thinking about lyrics, but it applies here."

"Yes…" she agreed. It did, in fact, apply.

Should she believe him? That he wouldn't hurt her? Should she put her heart out there, risking getting it broken?

In truth, she didn't know what all the hype was about sex. Even though she'd been with guys, she'd wondered what was supposed to be in it for her. She'd had not much experience at all, in fact. Just crude penetration, with it being all over shortly afterward. Hot for the guy maybe, but for her, there had been a whole lot missing. The universal question—"Is this all there is?" came to mind.

No one, though, had turned her on like Davy did when they kissed. No one had turned her insides to liquid the way he did. Could it be that there really was more than she'd experienced, and she just hadn't known about it? Cassie had spoken of things she'd done sexually, and Deanna had been too embarrassed to tell Cassie that her experiences had been nothing like what her friend had encountered. Unless Cassie was exaggerating. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, as Cassie did tend to embellish things now and then.

Deanna supposed she must be the closest thing to being a virgin _without _being one, but how could she put that to Davy? Without getting into details she wasn't sure she wanted to air?

"Dastardly, they were," he grumbled to himself.

"Who?"

"The asses you were with before."

His face was red, a vein throbbed in his temple. This must be very significant to him to have worked him into such a lather. Incredibly, she wasn't sure exactly what they were even talking about.

"I hate men who use women," he muttered, clearly disgruntled.

"Is that what happened to me?" she asked.

He looked at her as if she had two heads. "If the vibes I'm picking up from you are correct, _yes,_ you were used."

"But Davy… I don't know… I don't really know anything…"

"I can see that now. I suspected it before, and now I know for certain," was his ready answer.

_He's so sure of himself, but without conceit or arrogance, _she thought._ He's so focused and driven_. She envied him, because she often felt so aimless. He was with her on this, trying to help.

"We have two issues going on here," he said. "It seems I'm behind the eight ball, with no way to prove to you that I've not been seeing anyone else. At the same time, it's possible you're thinking I'm like those other assholes. Do you know that I've never known a girl as long as I've known you without going to bed with her?"

"What? Really?" Once again, her mind conjured up images of those club girls making themselves so available to him. She felt nauseated.

"Yeah. Girls can be really overbearing. They don't even give you a chance to be yourself. You kind of feel…like just a face, just a body. Not a real person, with real feelings. "

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that. I saw the way they look at you. I can only imagine their conduct when you're not with me."

"They can get outright trampy," he agreed. "I don't really have anything against them. It's just that they throw themselves at musicians. But, in summary here, I asked _you _on this trip, not any of them," he reminded her gently.

"I'm…still having trouble with it though." She hated to admit it, but it was true. She had serious trust issues with guys. She trusted Davy as things were now, but if they were to take the next step into intimacy, she had a strong notion her insecurity would escalate. The thought of giving that part of herself to him, and knowing she couldn't get it back really unsettled her. Maybe she wasn't technically a virgin, but she was a virgin to _love,_ and she was afraid that going all the way with him would give her no road back. She might fall hard for him, then what would she do? He'd possibly go back to his free love lifestyle he'd known before. She didn't think Davy would deliberately lie to her, but what if he decided he didn't feel the same about her? Could it be just the fact that she hadn't thrown herself at him like the others did that made him want her? Like Adam and Eve, it's always the fruit you can't have that becomes the fruit you feel you have to have.

"I'll make you a promise right now," he said, after watching the wheels turning in her head, knowing she was still doubting him. It hurt, but he understood why she felt that way. She been hoodwinked by guys, and was very gun shy as a result.

She was looking at him with those big, questioning grey eyes, so he blurted it out, hard as it was.

"I won't touch you. I might hold your hand, give you a hug if you want it, but that's about the extent of it. I'm willing to wait for you—until you feel you want to get closer to me…if you ever do…but I won't put any pressure on you."

No guy had said words anything close to that to her before. They had relentlessly tried to put their hands in her blouse or up her skirt, but never had one asked how _she_ felt about it; if she even _wanted_ it.

"Okay, want to hug on it?" she asked. They shared a hug that couldn't have had more feeling in it if the hug itself had been able to speak words. When he drew away, Davy's breath was a long shudder.

In the coming days, Davy displayed a restraint that was frankly, admirable. There was no other word for it. The fact that he'd said he'd wait for her, and was proving it, had a strange effect. It turned her on to him even more…


	9. Chapter 9

He really meant it. And he'd damned well make sure he proved it to her. And if not, he'd die trying. He liked her that much—that he'd accept whatever kind of relationship she wanted without complaint, even though he'd been hoping to spark a romance. Inviting her on a trip to Hawaii…in the end, the long and short of it was that Hawaii meant nothing, really. It was her he wanted, and Hawaii was only a potential vehicle. He'd like to get to know her much better, but even if it ended up in only friendship, he'd take that. He liked her just that much.

Deanna saw only subtle changes in Davy. They weren't distinct. He was still just as fun, still always up for adventure, or quiet times, or conversation. Just like before. He was also keeping his word. He didn't touch her, and he didn't pout about it either. She couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. It was true he was a little quieter, a little milder. Otherwise it wouldn't enter your mind that he was flustered about his status with her. She saw it, however. Chipper Davy was a little bit stifled. One thing really stood out—and that was that he didn't kiss her. It killed her inside. But hey, she'd brought this all on herself.

She never did take off her robe that night, and Davy had obediently slept in his own bed, not even attempting to get her over to his. She could hear his soft snore, which was really more of a cute little snuffle. Did he do anything that_ wasn't_ cute?

She had called Derrick in the morning, and talked to him for all of about ten minutes, and Davy, on the outskirts of her vision, had made himself scarce, going out on the lanai so as not to intrude. Derrick had asked where they were staying, but Deanna had politely, yet firmly told him they didn't want to reveal the name of the hotel, as they preferred privacy. That had alarmed Derrick, although he didn't say as much. Deanna knew he thought they were sleeping together. It was better that way—it would keep Derrick from building up any false hopes. Derrick's slightly disapproving tone left no doubt he was feeling duped. Deanna had never, however, led him on, never given him any reason to think they were anything but friends. So, like spider webs, she swiped the guilty feelings away. Deanna was learning, albeit very slowly, that she was not responsible for other people's feelings, that is, as long as she didn't intentionally hurt them.

They went snorkeling the next day at Kapalua, a calm cove. The water usually didn't get rough there, so Davy had been told by a local. It was fairly sheltered, giving Davy some peace of mind about his girl's safety.

_His girl._ Gosh, that sounded good. Positive thinking didn't hurt a thing.

In addition, this place was known for amazing corals. They went to the right side of the bay and had to swim out a way to find the best visibility and corals. Deanna had never snorkeled before, and she found it so addicting that she didn't want to stop. They saw all colors of coral in the shapes of everything from fingers, to antlers, to mushrooms to cauliflower. They saw turtles, many different fish of bright, neon colors, and spotted sea urchin. The exploration was enchanting for both of them. By the time they finished, close to three hours later, they were ready to find another hotel to try.

For some reason, they lingered a little longer, reluctant to leave this nice area, and when walking amongst the palm trees and cook pines fifty yards from the shore, stumbled across some charming, winsome little cottages in a clearing. All of them were painted white, with blue trim. Neat little yards that even had white picket fences around each one. Intrigued, they checked it out. They found an older couple sitting in beach chairs in the shade, fell into conversation, and found that the cottages, which were run by this couple, were rentals. There were five cottages in all. One happened to be vacant at the moment. Davy and Deanna had only to look at each other to know what the other was thinking. Upon calling the vacation sponsor from the older couple's home, they found the cottage rental was covered, so, letting out a whoop for joy, they hopped into the jeep and went back to their previous hotel, gathered their suitcases, paid their bill, and returned.

Nestled among trees on three sides, and the ocean on the fourth side, it couldn't have been more suited for young couples in love. _Atmosphere_, thought Davy. Atmosphere played a big part in giving romance the gentle nudge it sometimes needed. He could use all the help he could get. It was perfect, the cottages not being too close together, giving the residents privacy.

On their way back, to officially rent the cottage for a few days, Deanna had confided in Davy.

"I need to let down," she said shyly.

"In what context are you speaking?" he asked, making certain he didn't assume anything either aloud or mentally.

"I need to relax. I'm thinking the cottage might help."

_She was talking about it_—this was a giant step. Now… if he just didn't blow it. Davy tip-toed figuratively, monitoring his words rigorously.

"I hope it's not all because of me, and my big mouth," he said, knowing she would figure out he was talking about his past.

"No, well yes… part of it is, but I've always been… on the fretful side to begin with. Our…problem, just makes it more pronounced. I worry and get anxious and tense too easily. I envy people…like you, who seem to deal with anything that comes their way."

"Temperament—you were born a little on the edgy side," he said. "It isn't your fault. I just wish you could relax more with me. Learn to trust me."

"That's what I want," she said with emphasis. "I want to be able to trust you in every way, and just take things as they come, and have a good time."

"You will. It'll have to come naturally though. You can't _make _yourself relax and trust," he reminded her. "I'll help you however I can."

Deanna's emotions crested at his words. He was so patient, so flexible and tolerant.

"Are you two honeymooners?" asked the older lady when they pulled up and got out of the jeep, carrying their suitcases. Deanna blushed furiously, and the woman took it the wrong way. She figured that here was a blushing bride.

"Okay, then it's good that the available cottage has one double bed," she said with finality, handing the key to a confounded Davy. The woman's husband smiled widely to match his wife's expression. Their rubbery faces, fraught with charming wrinkles in just about every formerly smooth area on their faces, were almost identical, an oddity, Deanna figured that often comes about when couples are together for many years. They had been married nearly fifty years, the woman stated with pride. They didn't hide the fact that they were happy to have this sweet young couple rent from them. Perhaps they were reflecting on what young love had been like for them, thought Deanna.

Neither Davy nor Deanna wanted to admit they weren't married, so they just smiled, accepted the key, paid, and walked to the small, clean, cozy cottage that was to be theirs for a night, two nights, a week; neither one really cared.

"We have more blankets if you need them!" the woman called to them. Edna was her name. Her husband's name was Norman. Davy waved back at her in acknowledgment. Deanna grabbed Davy's hand, leading him around the cottage, her heart fluttering, and they surveyed the little kitchenette, living room, bedroom and bathroom with satisfaction. It had a lot of windows, and it made both of them feel a little wistful, although neither breathed a word of these feelings. It was like a love nest, Deanna thought to herself.

"Are you sure?" Davy asked, knowing Deanna would know what he was referring to…the bed. His eyes swept in that direction casually, but he felt anything _but_ casual about bringing it up.

"It's fine," she said.

In the sixties, there were very few people about on this beach, so they had it mostly to themselves except for the other cottage renters, and the few that were on the beach were spaced very far apart.

"Let's go for dinner at this place we both thought we'd like in the vacation information package. Remember?" asked Davy as he began hanging up his clothes. "We can pick up something from a store too if you want. Like drinks, snacks for the fridge."

"Yes! That place sounded so nice! And so fancy!" Deanna took a half-breath, pausing and looking at him with indecision.

"Remember, it's paid for," laughed Davy.

"I keep forgetting that! How far is it from here?"

"Only about a fifteen minute drive," he answered. After the snorkeling, they were ready for an early dinner. Both were starving, a lot of energy having been expended. Things were going to start looking up from now on, Davy determined. He could feel it in his bones, his skin, the very air.

* * *

Deanna felt so pampered as he pulled her chair out for her at the restaurant. He screamed class, moving about with the same self-assurance as if he attended a fancy restaurant on a daily basis. They shared a bottle of wine, and Davy gave her some lessons in relaxation just from his body language. He slowed himself down purposely, adopting a serene expression, hoping it would have some influence on her. It did rub off, because Deanna found herself feeling peaceful and untroubled. The wine also helped to foster her positive, relaxed attitude.

They had a lobster, crab and shrimp feast. It was a special treat. Neither one had had lobster for years. They squirted it with lime juice. Davy was wearing a black sweater and silk tie under a gray blazer. Deanna had never seen him look better. She wanted to put her hands all over his body, starting out with running her fingers through his hair. She wanted to touch his cheek, kiss his neck, slide her hand under his sweater… oh dear. She was getting seriously worked up. Every time she thought that she just might be able to let loose with him, the ghost groupies rudely shoved their way between them, and her desire, once again, plummeted.

Davy hadn't encroached on her in even the tiniest way, hadn't brought up any subjects that related to it either. No euphemisms, no looks that said he wanted to gobble her up. He'd never been crude, but he didn't play around and joke as he had before concerning thoughts he'd had about her that caused him to desire her. She missed it.

They were too full for dessert, so Davy suggested they go somewhere to have the Blue Hawaiian cocktails they still wanted to sample and Haupai and coconut balls for dessert after a light lunch tomorrow. They had heard Hawaii was famous for these delicious desserts.

"We'll have to try the Manju cookies too," he suggested.

They were fortunate to see the sunset again, feeling blessed as they stood inside the cottage at the big front window. The warm island breeze rustled the curtains through the partially open window. Deanna leaned into him, and it couldn't be taken for anything but an invitation, so he slipped his arm around her waist. When their eyes met in appreciation as the stunning colors of the sunset began to fade, then smudged into twilight, Deanna felt her chest expanding from the inside, as if it were her actual heart that was swelling and yearning for something. Deanna didn't know what it was, but she did know it was touching her deeply, and it seemed to summon her with quite a bit of force. Davy took an achingly long breath, and she wondered if he felt it too.

They didn't read, they didn't even turn on the lights. They simply relaxed on the bed, side by side, as darkness fell.

"If you want me to sleep on the couch -?" he asked softly.

"Don't be silly. You know I trust you with _me_, I just don't trust you with other girls," and she startled herself with her frankness. She felt like biting off her tongue.

"With my history, I can't blame you. I might have gotten a little perturbed about it before, but in thinking about it all day… well, I'm not a woman, and I can't really put myself in your place. I do know you're only doing what you feel you need to do," he tried to reassure her. "You're proceeding with caution."

"You've been such a sweetheart," she felt like she was confessing the biggest sin by denying him access to her. Most of their communication about her fears were vague, but, for the most part, understood by both. They were both being honest, and here she was punishing him for his honesty. That's how it felt. His big brown eyes outright flattened her. She found herself strangely caught up in them again, dizzy with the need to touch him.

Davy felt oddly disarmed. He'd already divulged to Deanna that he'd never slept in a bed with a girl without having sex, and he was wondering just how this was going to work. What if he accidentally turned over in his sleep and ended up all over her? Would she blame him? Accuse him of trying to get close under the guise of not knowing what he was doing while asleep?

It was light enough to see Davy's eyes, and they held an indecipherable look. The look that always made her want to do just about anything to know what he was thinking. He was enough to pound her composure to smithereens, reduce her to a puddle.

And there was a certain expression he wore that oftentimes made her stumble over her own words. She found herself so absurdly attracted to him that she would be talking, and then just stop in mid-sentence, only able to stare at him. And then, embarrassingly, trying to explain that she'd forgotten what she'd been saying. To tell him that he was distracting would have been an understatement of extreme proportions. She didn't expect him to understand, because she didn't understand this insane attraction herself.

She tried to disengage, but it wasn't that simple when you were flooded with emotions. Emotions you didn't trust. Because they just might run away with you.

"I've missed…I've missed…the kissing," Deanna wanted to bolt from the room when she heard herself spout those words. Davy's sharply indrawn breath revealed what impact the words had had on him as well.

"So have I," he returned, after what seemed like a very long silence.

The throbbing was beginning in her pelvis, or rather, it was becoming more persistent. It had been there since they'd laid down on the bed. Or really, since they'd entered the cottage. Come to think of it, it had begun in the restaurant. Might as well admit it-she throbbed for him most of the time. She knew she wasn't ready for him to kiss her again though—not when the phantom groupies were still milling around, like ominous clouds over their heads.

"Good night, Davy."

"Good night Deanna."

They touched, although without intending to, during the night. He'd jumped when he had slipped out of sleep to find his hand on her shoulder. And she had gasped, recoiling, when she'd found her own hand on his stomach. Even so, it was as if their bodies gravitated toward each other, because they found themselves practically cuddled up upon waking. Neither moved, each enjoying the sensation until they could no longer pretend to still be asleep.

"We should do our laundry today," said Deanna, as she warmed up the freshly brewed coffee in their cottage. They'd gotten a few groceries last night on the way back from the restaurant, so Deanna fixed them a couple of omelettes for breakfast.

"Yeah, I know. If we do it now, it won't take as long as it would if we waited a week." He tried not to think of how many days they had left, because the days were going by entirely too fast.

Remembering last night, he recalled that going to sleep should have been easy after their exertional day of snorkeling, but it hadn't been, for either one of them.

He remembered with fondness how her smooth legs had brushed up against him several times during the night, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from throwing his leg around hers to snare her. And when he woke up with her face against his chest, her warm breath raised goose flesh over his entire body. He'd been able to see the clock without moving—and he definitely didn't want to move, lest she wake up and move away from him. It had been 4AM, and he had found himself throbbing with an unquenchable need that he could do nothing about. He wrenched himself out of his daydream. _Daydream Believer in the wee hours of the morning.  
_

"Our light lunch, then desserts and Blue Hawaiian cocktails!" Davy reminded her as they drank their second cup of coffee on the lanai.

"I'm gonna have the Loco Moco," he announced. Another thing he'd read about. He'd already mentioned it to Deanna before—egg, meat patty and rice with gravy. Apparently a favorite on the islands. That didn't sound like a light lunch to her at all. She decided she'd have a salad. They showered, dressed, and were out the door by noon, removing the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the door so the owners could clean the room and change the sheets while they were gone. Reluctantly, they dragged their laundry along in an older pillow case Deanna had remembered to bring on the trip.

As they were eating lunch, Deanna said something that almost caused Davy to hyperventilate.

"You know, that island called… what was it? Mol…"

"Molokai?" he asked.

"Yes, that was it. It's small, and it looked interesting on the map. What is it like?"

"Well, I did some reading on all the islands," he began tentatively. "And Molokai is pretty isolated. Beautiful beaches, but no night life. Ideal for people who want to be alone and just enjoy nature," he picked his words carefully.

"Oh really?" Deanna thought that over. "How long does it take to get there?"

"Well, you take a ferry from Lahaina Harbor. That's where the airport is. It's thirty miles from there—takes about an hour on the ferry."

"Sounds like you're interested in it too. What was your impression of what you read about it?"

"It's very quiet, very rural and very Hawaiian. There aren't even any traffic lights. There are only one or two small markets. There are a lot of beaches that are safe for swimming. Some people would be bored—that is, the typical tourist who comes to Hawaii for fancy restaurants, bright lights, and busy beaches."

"You and I have talked about stuff like that. We both prefer more natural surroundings, no crowds," Deanna said thoughtfully.

"Yes, I know. I didn't know whether to mention Molokai to you or not. I didn't know how you'd feel about it. Unspoiled beauty, seclusion and romance is how it's described. But of course, I haven't seen it myself." There, he'd told her the most important, crucial information he had about Molokai. She could decide if she wanted to venture there with him or not.

She twirled a lock of her hair with an errant finger. "It sounds intriguing. Would you like to go and see it?"

Davy tried to keep a calm demeanor despite the excitement that was almost boiling over in his gut.

"I would. Camping would probably be necessary if we were to stay overnight."

"Camping? Wow… no hotels even?"

Davy shook his head. "Not that I know of. None were mentioned in what I read. We're talking serious rural."

"But we'd have to buy a tent, and sleeping bags. And there would be no way we could take them back on the plane."

Davy shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see that as a concern. We could sell, or even give them away when we leave the island. We'd have to buy non-perishable food at a store there, or bring it with us. And fresh water, of course. I'm not sure how that would work." He was chewing his lower lip. "Let me give it some thought."

Unspoken musings floated around, Deanna thinking about how ideal it would be to be truly alone with Davy on the beach overnight, or longer. Davy's thoughts ran along the same lines, along with practical concerns like possible bugs on the beach at night, and how that would be a real romance deterrent. He'd camped a lot before, but never on a beach in Hawaii. He hadn't read up on that, and wondered about possible unanticipated annoyances or even hazards.

"I think it sounds just like what we need," said Deanna, the overtones of which were obscure, and leaving Davy wondering what precisely she meant. He was pretty sure he knew, but best not to get hopeful. Perhaps she preferred to leave the conversation open-ended, so he didn't dwell on it by asking for details about her feelings.

He was bemused, and a little nonplussed that it seemed she had the same thing on her mind that he did—that there was still a chance for them. Maybe he could convince her once and for all to put those silly, flirty girls at the club out of her mind. And his checkered past…

How could it have all come together so easily? He hadn't even had to mention Molokai to her! Maybe she might possibly be feeling the need to be alone with him, as he did with her? Did he dare hope?

* * *

Sitting in a laundramat, on vacation in Hawaii was not exactly the most romantic thing they could be doing, thought Davy dourly. They sat and talked as their clothes washed, then threw them into the dryers, and it seemed to take ages.

The Blue Hawaiian drinks had been so good, the desserts even better. They had sat outside at the quaint little restaurant and listened to the surf and birds. The Haupai was a coconut custard that was rich and creamy. It was normally a Luau food, explained the waiter. The Manju cookies had a sweet center. Davy had reached out from his seat next to her, and they had held hands.

"Look," Davy pointed at a eucalyptus tree with "something extra." It was called a rainbow eucalyptus, he explained. Deanna was amazed—the trunk of the tree looked as if it had been painted in several different colors by way of vertical stripes.

"The more I see, the more enchanted I am with this place," she said.

"Tonight, I'd like to eat something with avocado," said Davy. "It's one of my favorite foods. Pineapple too, and there's plenty of that here."

"You're already thinking about dinner?" she laughed. His mind always seemed to be one meal ahead.

* * *

"Um, could you wear that same nightgown again that you wore last night?" They had gotten back from dinner, and were relaxing in the cottage. Davy had just dared to plunge himself into what could well backfire on him. Deanna, as he expected, was so stunned that she seemed to be stuck to the floor. She'd stopped in mid-step on her way to the couch with glasses of iced tea. She couldn't seem to move, even talking was difficult.

"How…how did you know what my nightgown looked like when I never took my robe off?"

"I notice little details…it looked very sweet."

"But I had a robe on that covered it!"

She still couldn't figure out how he knew about the baby doll gown. He had to have also somehow known it was more revealing, otherwise he wouldn't have made the request that she wear it again tonight. The lower neckline—that had to be it. It was shorter too, so very little, if anything, would show above and below the robe. Ah, yes. Observant man.

"I'll sing and dance if you'll wear it." He didn't wait for an answer. He proceeded to use the entire room, bouncing back and forth between Broadway and modern sixties dancing. He did a little of everything- the Skate, the Shimmy, The Boogaloo, even some soft shoe. How did he know so many dances, she asked. He told her of all the wild nights of drinking and dancing at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go, and he also threw in how awesome Peter could do the "Jerk."

And then, if that weren't enough, he began singing "I Can't Get Her Off My Mind" as he danced.

"Ohh… she's so pretty, I couldn't believe she'd ever…

Looook my way.

But the way I'm feeling, I'm gonna be stealing

That little girl's heart today.

Well, I'm so happy I could almost fly

And I guess you know the reason why

I'm walking down the street

With her little hand in mine

And I don't think I'll ever get her off my mind."

"Okay, okay, I'll wear it," she giggled. He'd gone to so much trouble, and nothing said she had to take her robe off anyway…

If the expression "badass" had been used in the sixties, Davy_ almost_ qualified for some of the hallmarks. The sexy ones, not the negative ones. He was pulling out all the stops to entertain her and make her laugh, but likewise he was daring, fearless, tough, and ultra cool.

She'd fantasized about his kisses so often, straining to remember every little detail. Running them over and over in her mind like you would try to recall a delicious taste. And now he wanted her in the baby doll nightie. Whatever was she going to do? Easy, wear the damn thing.

He was reading about Hawaii when she came out of the bathroom in her robe with the nightie on underneath.

"There are no snakes in Hawaii, but lots of spiders," he read out loud. "I don't suppose there would be spiders on the beach though, would you?" he asked, trying to appear unconcerned and calm, because he knew she was probably tense about the night gown she wore under the robe.

"I've never seen one on a beach," she answered. "Spiders don't bother me, really."

"Wow, you're an outasite girl!" he exclaimed. "Most girls would split in a second if a spider came anywhere near them."

She felt proud, although, in pondering it, it was a rather odd thing to be proud of.

"We'll have to buy a large picnic basket, or some kind of container that bugs, spiders, or whatever, can't get into," she said. "And, like you said, a tent, sleeping bags and whatever else…"

She really did seem serious, and she hadn't even seen Molokai yet! He hoped her desire to see it wouldn't wear off before they got there.

"Let's do it!" Davy was really enthusiastic now. "Wanna get the stuff we'll need tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure. Will they let us take all that on the ferry?"

"Good point, I hadn't thought of that. I did read in one of the library books that certain locals can be found that will take you around for a price, and if you pay them extra, I imagine they'll take your camping gear too."

"How would we get back to Maui when we're ready?" she asked.

"We'll figure it out, I'm sure. We can probably work out a deal with a local for the round trip."

Deanna read for a while, and Davy flipped through some magazines that had been neatly piled on the coffee table. Later, she went into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and Davy followed, sitting beside her. They moved in unison, as if some kind of strange adhesive bound them together.

"I didn't even have to call you in here," she said, smiling.

"I read your mind," his eyes were twinkling, and she was suddenly glad she was sitting down. She had a vision of swooning, and him catching her in his arms.

"You've been so gallant today, so accommodating, and don't think I haven't noticed," she said.

"I want you feeling comfortable… above all else."

"And what you said was right…you _did_ ask me to go to Hawaii—not someone else."

"Thank you for appreciating the meaning of that. I wouldn't ask just anyone. So… am I allowed to touch you again? In any way?" he exhibited his best half-pout.

"I guess so…I just…" she was toppling over inside, on the brink of crying. It had caught up with her without prior notice.

"You just?" he coaxed.

"I'm just so afraid of… hurt, you know?"

"Do you really think I would hurt you?" his direct gaze screamed sincerity. His eyes could be unrevealing, or like right now, they could be transparent.

"Maybe not intentionally, but…you said your desire fizzled out with others, well, why not me too?"

"I haven't felt this way about anyone else, and that's not a line," he said emphatically.

He decided to take his chances, and pulled her to him. There was no resistance. If there had been, he would have accepted it, and left her alone.

Soon, history repeated itself as she was dunked into the bottomless depths of his ever-present passion. The passion he'd kept in check out of respect.

He wove his fingers into her hair at both sides and tugged her down on her back, following her down. All she could do was _feel_—she could hardly even breathe. She forgot what it was like to have air in her lungs, but air was not far up on her list of priorities at the moment.

She felt the sunshine in him, the ocean, the sand, the palm trees, the essence of nature. Kissing him was just as natural as all those things. Here, in this paradise, he was a staple, essential to her. She didn't want him to know all this, yet her body was trying to betray her.

He rolled them onto their sides so it wouldn't appear to her that he was attempting to do anything but kiss her, even so, she sensed his pulsing need. His sensuality cried out to her as obvious as the wail of a tornado siren. It started out with little, tender kisses, and then each kiss became a little longer, a little more needy. Her own need was just as urgent, and that shocked her, mostly because it was foreign to her. He was the only one who had ever brought it to the fore.

Having a vibrator was a life-saver, but it only took care of her physical needs. It did nothing for her emotional needs. And right now, Davy was doing a fine job with her emotional requirements. She tried to imagine what kind of fireworks would result if Davy could offer her both.

Gradually, by tiny increments, she became aware of his hand at the small of her back. Touching so lightly she could only barely feel it.

He didn't want to startle her. And he felt he had almost blown it by just about jumping on top of her on the bed. She had that short night gown on under that dratted robe, and it was nearly his undoing when he allowed himself to think about it for longer than a fraction of a second.

"Have I turned this ship around?" his voice teased, caressed.

"If you mean what I think you do…it was never going in the wrong direction to begin with." It felt as if warm liquid was pouring over his heart as the significance of her words hit him.

His hand now firmly on the small of her back, he stroked, and her soft, fluffy robe moved with his hand. No good. He'd much rather have his bare hand on her bare flesh so she could feel everything. All she could feel now, he supposed, was her robe rubbing against her. Just fabric, no flesh.

The intensity of their kissing escalated in record time. Kissing shouldn't be this frantic—not this quickly. But things were spiraling out of control, or rather_ he _was spiraling out of control, because he found he could no longer even attempt a casual attitude. He was at the mercy of this passion for her. What didn't help was that she was clawing at his clothes like a tigress. Her hair was all over the bedspread, in their faces, her nails were getting more and more aggressive on his back, her leg had captured his the way he'd wished he'd been able to do to her last night. She had him in a death grip that he had no desire to escape from.

"I'm buzzing," he managed to say, his voice strained.

Wondering why he was talking at a time like this, Deanna fought to take command of herself. All she could think of immediately was her vibrator. _What?_

"What? Buzzing?"

"Yeah, I'm ecstatic."

Oh, well. She didn't mind if he said _that._

He kissed so well that she would have followed him to wherever he drifted to get more. Just to be able to gaze at him, really. Just to be near him. He didn't really even have to kiss her. Be it prairie, mountains, desert, or the sea, she'd be there. She'd come to Hawaii with him. She'd never ventured farther than a couple hours from her home with any other guy. She never cared to be in their company for that long. She wondered if he knew that…

Then reality visited her again. If she could only stop the dreadful thoughts crowding into her head right now. Terror shook her from the inside out. He was claiming her in every way. There would be no going back. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. She'd said so many times in the past that she would never get serious with a musician. She was too insecure to deal with their adoring, clamoring fans. There would always be girls prettier than her, with better figures, better personalities, more interesting to talk to, more intelligent. Girls who knew how to make a man happy in bed. She lacked that too. How humiliating. She couldn't compete with those wild, beautiful girls. That was why she had vowed never to get involved with a musician.

Glamour and fame didn't appeal to her like love did. To have the finest house, cars, jewelry would mean less than nothing to her without love. To find out the man she loved was seeing brainless beauties, and preferring them over her—well… that was a fate worse than never falling in love at all.

She had to get that across to him somehow. She'd tried already, but maybe he didn't realize how it gnawed away at her. How scared she was.

The biggest problem was when he kissed her, she couldn't think. And that could lead to a rash decision—one that she'd pay for for the rest of her life. No way was she going to end up pining for him, grieving for what they could have had, while he walked away with another woman on his arm. Nope, she wasn't going to be stupid.

Yet they continued to kiss for an eternity, and the scorching bliss of it made her want _all _of him, body and soul.

"Would you consider taking this off?" he asked a little breathlessly, indicating her robe, unaware of where her thoughts had been moments before.

She reacted instantly. She was up and off the bed in a split second, her only thought being to get away. It was now dark outside. No one would see her in her robe. So she went out the front door.

Davy laid there for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. It wasn't as if he'd tried to get her robe off himself. He tried to decode her body language when she'd gotten up. Not scared, but either very angry or very upset. And only seconds ago, she'd been clutching him with a fierceness he'd rarely seen in a girl. This one was not just any girl though, and so he'd face hell if he had to, in order to find out what had triggered this latest episode. And convince her to stop lying to herself…

She knew how he felt by now! How much more explaining could he do? He heard the front door shut, and vaulted off the bed, in pursuit.

Deanna knew it wouldn't be longer than a few seconds before he would come looking for her, so she ran as fast as she could into the thick trees to one side of the cottage. She slipped behind one and waited, soundlessly.

Davy, meanwhile, headed toward the trees on the opposite side of the cottage, not knowing which way she had gone. Heads or tails? He'd had a fifty-fifty chance of going the right way, and he'd lost. It was pretty damn dark out here, and he didn't want Deanna out here alone. He had no idea what or who could be prowling around in Hawaii at night, and what their intentions might be.

He walked and walked for what seemed miles, although it was only, in reality, a matter of minutes, hoping he didn't get lost. He stopped every thirty seconds or so and stood stock still, listening for the slightest noise that would indicate her presence. But there wasn't a sound to be heard. He started to lose heart, knowing that she could be in a completely different area, and he could be moving steadily away from her. Not only that, but both of them were in danger of getting lost.

The darkness felt close, muggy. Deanna was afraid to leave her spot because she did not have a good sense of direction, and was sure she'd lose her way. If she could get lost on freeways, she could certainly get lost in a bunch of trees that seemed even thicker at night. It seemed like a virtual, forbidding jungle, the outlines of the trees no longer inviting and friendly, but sinister—nothing like the pleasant stroll she'd had in these very trees a few hours ago, with Davy.

Suddenly, she heard a slight sound very close to her—the rustling of leaves. As she startled and wheeled about, a hand clamped over her mouth as a hard-as-steel arm simultaneously closed tightly around her waist. She screamed, but it was muffled so it came out as a mere squeak. Now she'd _really_ done it—gotten herself into a perilous situation, and she couldn't even scream out to Davy for help. This man was likely going to kill her, and probably do unthinkable things beforehand.

"Shhhh… It's me," She looked up, and straight into Davy's eyes! _Oh, thank God!_ She slumped into him in supreme relief. He took his hand off her mouth and casually picked her up with one arm under her knees and the other under her back, and began to walk back to the cottage.

"What are you doing?" she asked, slipping her arms around his neck, feeling safe again, and not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the ridiculousness of it all.

Half-chuckling, because it was the only way he knew how to cope with pure nerves, and half-weeping from the cascade of relief that she was safe, Davy said, "I'm taking your ass back to the cottage."


	10. Chapter 10

How did he do it? He probably didn't weigh much more than she did, yet he carried her effortlessly, picking his way over logs, deadfall, and leaf litter, with nary a stumble. Of course…it was those muscles…accompanied by a grace that must have been innate.

They reached the cottage, and he balanced her rear end on his knee momentarily as he twisted the door knob, then, slipping his hand under her back again, he kicked the door open.

"Do you know you scared the holy shit out of me?" she demanded of him as soon as he set her down inside the cottage. She was shaken, and who wouldn't be after that episode? "Putting your hand over my mouth like that, and grabbing me?"

This initiated a lecture from Davy; launching him into a tirade that got more and more intense. There were thunder clouds in his even-more-intense-than-usual eyes. Even so…she could still gladly swim in them.

"What do you think I was doing? Twiddling my thumbs? I was scared shitless too! I don't know what kind of threats are out there at night. This place is totally unfamiliar to both of us. It was pure luck that I happened upon you, because right before that, I was in the trees on the other side of the cottage, and I may never have found you. Do you realize what might have happened to you out there?"

She bowed her head, flinching a little under his onslaught. "Yes, now I do. It dawned on me when you grabbed me. I thought I was done for. The reason I left was… I acted on impulse when you mentioned me taking my robe off… because it made me start thinking about you with other girls again…wondering how many others you've done the same thing with."

Davy battled total exasperation. "Look…" he took a deep breath and struggled for the strength and patience to get through this damning subject for… what? The third or fourth time? He'd lost count.

"The only reason I asked you to take your robe off was because you had already worn that nightgown once, and by wearing it again, I thought you wanted me to see it. It seemed logical to me. I'm not a predator, you know. You're good at sending mixed messages, Deanna. But right now, I need to get something else into your head that is mandatory. You really acted irresponsible and careless tonight. You absolutely _cannot _be running out like that after dark. I knew it wasn't fear of what I might do that motivated you to run either. You aren't afraid of me. I guess I should have known you were feeling insecure again. Nevertheless, no matter how upset or insecure, or anything else you feel, stay with me, please."

He was right on the button. She hadn't been afraid. She'd just run away from the knowledge that he wanted to see her nightgown, and that made no sense at all, since she'd put it on just for him. It was just that it had started the wheels turning in her head, and her damn overthinking that always got her into trouble with him.

"Promise me, Deanna," his look was solemn. "Promise me you won't ever run from me out into the dark again. Actually, I'd prefer you never run from me again, period." He couldn't help the slight smile that crept up on him.

"Okay, I promise. But why did you put your hand over my mouth?"

"So you wouldn't scream. It was dark, and you didn't know it was me. I didn't want Edna and Norman thinking I was abusing my new bride."

This time she laughed, long and hard. "That _would_ look bad, wouldn't it?" she sputtered.

No more bits and pieces. She was going to tell him the whole, drawn-out, gloomy story. She wasn't even sure herself why she sometimes acted spooked, but maybe it would serve as a partial explanation. He needed to know why she was so screwed up. She owed it to him after what she'd put him through tonight.

She started out by explaining to him about vowing to herself that she'd never get serious with a musician. How she wasn't looking for a "fling," because, to her, being with someone intimately should mean so much more than sex. She went on to explain that no boy had ever made her feel the kind of desire she felt for him. She even went so far as to say that sex had never been anything special for her. However, she felt something so profound when he kissed her, or touched her, or even looked at her, that she was beginning to think that there was something she'd been missing out on all this time. Her desire was so overwhelming that she'd become frightened of her own feelings. The fact that he was a musician raised a huge caution flag, further complicating things. And that was where she'd ended up—perplexed and addled. Not able to resist him, yet not able to let go and be herself with him either.

"The guys you are referring to are the lowest of the low; wankers, they are," he said. They're barmy, dead from the neck up. I'm _not_ one of those guys. I really care about you, Deanna. And those little groupies, or fans, or whatever you want to call them, mean nothing at all to me. I don't like to put anyone down, so I won't say anymore, except that you have substance, intelligence, and you don't care about me being a musician. Rather, the opposite. They might like me_ because_ I'm a musician, but you wish I _weren't._ Do you know how special that is to me? You like me for myself, not because I'm in a band, not because of my face, or my singing or dancing. I want to be liked for who I really am—not what someone thinks I should be, or for what they can get from me.

"And do you really think I'm the kind of guy who would love you and leave you? Haven't I been nothing but kind to you? Devoted to you?"

She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak.

"Then let me in, Deanna."

Those earnest words made her tears start then. She couldn't control them any longer. He held her silently, for a long time as she sobbed her eyes out, until it felt that all her tears had been used up.

Davy was catching on to the fact that the guys in her past had not brought her pleasure. That was why she alternated between acting frigid and overcome with passion. She didn't want to be involved with him for fear of hurt, and also, she had obviously not experienced sexual satisfaction with a man. He seriously doubted she'd ever had an orgasm with a man. Just her vibrator. He also bet the guys had never even asked her if she'd had an orgasm, or even cared. The fucking bastards. He would never put his own pleasure ahead of hers. And he wouldn't hurt her either, physically or emotionally. The time would come when he would be able to prove to her that not only was he interested in a meaningful, exclusive relationship with her, but also that he could take her to that place of sensuality where she would finally be able to experience the kind of pleasure she had no idea even existed.

Whoa there… his breathing accelerated when he thought about it. She'd missed out on so much! Introducing her to orgasmic bliss... It would be the kind of high that he'd do everything in his power to give her as much of as he could…and watch her experience it.

"Come on, let's go to bed," he said.

"But it's still early…"

"Give me a break. I've chased you through a forest in the pitch black of night. I carried you back here. Can you just humor me by relaxing on the bed with me?"

Put that way, she felt her willfulness start to drain away. She'd been a bitch, and she knew it. She'd put on the nightie for him, and then gotten out of sorts when he'd asked to see it. If that wasn't being pig-headed and senseless then nothing was. She did have an obstinate streak. There was no excusing her actions tonight. How she wished she could undo it all.

As they lay on the bed, Davy easing into kissing her, he allowed her to keep him informed via her body language of what she wanted, gauging constantly how she was responding. He had to grin and bear it, no matter how much he ached to take her right then. This relationship was so essential to him that if he were to do anything to turn her off, he would hate himself forever, and he'd possibly miss out on a lifetime with Deanna. He knew his conduct was paramount, and he wasn't going to screw things up. Not if it killed him.

When the kissing became fevered, and he was eating at her mouth, moaning, not holding back, leaving no doubt in her mind about how she made him feel, she began pleading in a voiceless way. A purr, a mewling, a whine, he wasn't sure which it was. But he did know it was positive; she seemed supremely desirous of more.

A minute later, she pulled back. "I have to be alone for a while," she said abruptly.

Davy widened his heavy-lidded eyes as much as he could manage, which wasn't much. He knew he had to look like he'd been smoking the funny stuff. It was the spell she'd put on him. A drug-like passion. So when she'd stated she needed to be alone, he could scarcely believe his ears.

_She had to be alone? What had he done now?_

"Do you need me to do something?" He asked anxiously. "Want to be hugged or something?" He remembered Peter offering the same to him—it was the first thing that came to mind, and he felt a pang of loneliness for his best friend. But only for a second…

"No…no. I just need a few minutes," she said in dismissal, disappearing into the bathroom.

She was upset again. He could just imagine her sitting on the toilet, crying. He must have come on too strong, too demanding. Was this going to become a routine thing? He felt discouraged, almost defeated. He just couldn't seem to make her happy.

He stayed on the bed, although he wanted to go knock on the bathroom door in the worst way. Something told him not to. He'd give her fifteen minutes, then he'd go to the door.

He didn't have to wait that long. In less than ten minutes, the bathroom door opened, and she appeared in the doorway, but closing the door quickly—so quickly that he hardly had a chance to see that she had the short nightie on—_without the robe._ She adjusted the door so it was only open a couple of inches, casting the room in a dim light.

She might as well have tortured him with everything in a sadist's arsenal. Letting the little bit of light filter into the room through the mostly-closed door was pure torment. He could see through her nightgown—well, kind of, and kind of not. He perceived a vague outline, just enough to bring him to a fever pitch of desire.

He lost what little bit of stoic restraint he had left. His eyes strained as he took in the soft curves walking toward him. The gently uplifted breasts, the large, firm nipples, graceful hips, the apex of her thighs. Transfixed, he made a heartened, inspired noise in his throat to let her know he approved, as he didn't trust his voice.

Deanna forced herself to walk slowly and gracefully to the bed, and not give in to the urge to run, and crawl under the sheets to escape his scrutiny as quickly as she could.

Practically intoxicated by his vocal gesture of admiration, she felt elated, euphoric, even. The sensual energy in the room positively buzzed like a high wire. She was so afraid he'd find her lacking that she was exultant when she saw the look of adoration on his face. His slow, gentle smile. She knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

This was all very candid, neither one knowing for sure what would follow, moment to moment. Of all the girls Davy had known, Deanna was the one who kept him guessing.

As she eased onto the bed beside him, he drew her to him, crooned to her about how perfect, how beautiful she was. He eased her down onto her back, wrapped his hand around her neck, as he had once before when they kissed. It was as if he were claiming her, and also, he wanted confirmation of her trust in him. His lips replaced his hand. Devouring her neck, his wet, hungry lips were avid. Her neck tingling, sending vibes down to her breasts, and then to her womb, she threw her head back to give him complete access to her in that tender, vulnerable area. He'd added a bit of suction to his kisses—just a bit. Not enough to give her a hickey, but hey, she wouldn't have minded.

Davy orchestrated, and Deanna followed his lead. They kissed soft, sweet, teasingly, and then like they were famished, in the warm glory of the next half an hour. Davy sucked her lower lip, then licked it. He licked her neck, then went back to kissing and sucking it. She felt like thrashing around. All the sensations were building up inside. She felt moistness between her legs. A catch in her throat had Davy's attention. He paused.

"You're still a little nebulous about me, and I can't continue with things like this," his voice was raspy with desire.

It was hard to believe. A guy, saying he couldn't continue? Every other guy she'd dated would do _anything _to get in her pants, or nightie, in this case. Even make all kinds of promises, plead and beg, trying to make her feel sorry for them. She'd been of the impression all guys were the same. This guy, right here beside her in bed, was self-effacing. It floored her.

"It's only because of the past that I'm still diffident. I've never been in a situation where a guy acted like you before," she tried to explain. "Davy, guys are all hands…if only you knew."

"I know from hearing guys talk that that they're very single-minded and adamant. You never hear a guy talk about affection he has for a girl when he's amongst other guys…it's usually just…detailing physical things that happened between them." He'd tried to say that diplomatically.

He smiled, his eyes far away for a moment. "Now Peter… Peter is like me. He'd make someone an awe-inspiring boyfriend… if he weren't so shy. He speaks about women with reverence. He has so much to give…"

Again, Deanna couldn't help noticing how much Davy seemed to applaud and commend Peter. His eyes softened visibly when he spoke of him. It fascinated her.

"So you mean there are _two_ good ones in the world?" she asked, a bit sarcastically as she simulated colossal surprise.

"At least that many."

"Really, Davy. I am aware there are respectful men out there. It's just that you're so…exceptional, you're matchless."

"Let's not take things too far," he said modestly. "It all really comes down to one thing. Treating women like _people—_special people who I personally think need to be put on a pedestal. A lot of guys don't even consider a woman as an equal, let alone put her on a pedestal. A woman has a right to say no, and to expect a guy to acquiesce. When a man is with a woman, he sometimes has to swallow his pride and be passive."

"And that is why you didn't pounce on me as soon as I got in the bed," she half aloud, still not quite able to absorb it.

"Doesn't mean I didn't want to! I wanted like hell to!" Davy told her the truth, because it was her rightful due.

"Just because I love looking at your beautiful body, and even though I ache for you, doesn't mean it's the right time. We need to talk about it. There's something more than ill-behaved guys in your past that makes you so spooky of men." Now he spoke slowly, carefully, enunciating clearly so as to get her full attention. "If, at any time, you want to tell me about it, if it'll help you, I'll always be here."

Her heart pumped strongly, a lump formed in her throat. A lump she couldn't swallow. _No, she wasn't going to cry!_ Davy, intuitive and observant as he was, had sensed there was something more to her frigidity.

"Did some guy leave you—one you loved?"

"Well, no… yes. I mean, in a way. But not a boyfriend…but… my father."

Davy's eyes went silken with quiet comprehension. He understood the pain of death too well himself.

"When I lost me mum, I felt like I should have gone with her," he said. "So I do know something of what it's like. You're running away from the hurt. I did too, actually. I came here to the U.S. I wanted to come here anyway, but I was also running from England, because I thought it would be easier if there were no reminders of her."

"And did it work?" Deanna asked.

"Depends on how you look at it. Really, I could have gone anywhere in the world and not gotten rid of the grief. Lots of little things I would see, like something in a shop, for instance, would remind me of her. She collected hummingbird figurines, and every time I saw one, well…I finally came to realize that I couldn't keep running. That I'd have to face it. The hurt. The anger. The grief. All of it. I stopped fighting it one day. I bought a little hummingbird figurine. It's in my bedroom at the Pad."

Deanna's heart swelled. "How did she die?" She was almost afraid to ask him.

"Emphysema. How did your dad die?"

Deanna broke into a cold sweat almost as soon as the words left his mouth. How foolish of her to ask him that! Now she'd gotten herself trapped, but she staunchly refused to lie to him. He was supportive, and helping her to realize part of what was behind her fear and avoidance of men. He had brought her a moment of powerful revelation. It was so dramatic that she couldn't speak at first.

The time had come to tell him the rest of the story she had started earlier.

Davy knew in a heartbeat that she had something significant to say. Something that was affecting her deeply.

"He…he took…his own life," she finally said.

Davy didn't know what he had expected, but it hadn't been this. He couldn't stop his gasp.

One single tear ran down Deanna's cheek to hit the pillow as she lay on her side, facing him. He saw it. And that lone, solitary tear told him more than any words could have. It told him how many thousands or millions of tears had preceded it in the last few years.

He held her, not speaking, and she understood his shock. People didn't know how to react when told something like that. She had told only a very few people because she couldn't stand the look of pity in their eyes. Once someone showed her sympathy, she always broke down. But Davy simply held her, giving her time to decide if she wanted to tell him any more.

"He had been going downhill health-wise for the last couple years of his life. He couldn't have had more than a year left. He could hardly drive anymore, or walk more than the length of his driveway without being out of breath. Heart disease and borderline kidney failure caused by high blood pressure that hadn't been diagnosed until the damage was done. He was a noble man, looking after his family. He didn't want to deplete everything in the bank so my mother could keep her beloved home in San Clemente."

"Sometimes I feel so lost now that he's gone. I feel, also, that I don't know who I really am."

After a long time, as Davy waited patiently for Deanna to finish her soft crying, he said. "Now I know. I knew it was more than just inconsiderate guys. You lost your dad, and in a very traumatic way. No wonder you shy away from getting close to a man."

"Not just 'a man,' Davy, _you. _You're the only guy I've told this to. And the only one I've gotten close to."

"Did you realize this before… that it is a big factor in your reluctance to date?"

"No, not really. Not consciously anyway. Thank you for helping me. Maybe it'll be easier for me now that I understand why I close myself off."

"And I'm so very sorry, Deanna."

"I'm sorry for you too, Davy."

"We do have some work ahead of us, but we're in this together," he smiled, and once again, that's all it took. She melted.

"Wanna go outside and watch the waves, and talk? I noticed two beach chairs leaning against the wall in the living room," he offered. "Courtesy of Norman and Edna, I'm guessing."

Anything to put her at ease. He wasn't in any hurry to rush things. He wanted that to be crystal clear to her. They were friends first…that was the way he wanted it, and he knew for sure it was also what she required.

"Okay," she brightened, and put her robe back on. She put on her slippers and as he was still dressed, they went out and had ice water as they watched the high tide and the nearly full moon reflecting off the waves. They could hear various noises, Deanna asking what they were.

Davy had a ready answer. "Probably a combination of geckos, crickets and frogs."

It was pleasant, and not loud enough to be annoying, a reminder of the beauty of the subtle audio of nature at night in Hawaii.

"Above all, remember to relax and enjoy yourself. Be calm. That's what we're here for. Worry has no place here." Davy's words soothed her. She loved not having that feeling of pressure, almost bordering on harassment, even if it were unspoken. With Davy it was nonexistent. The few men she'd dated had acted as if sex was always the ultimate goal. Davy was content and pleased to see her feeling at ease and at home, and that was what was most important to him. He'd just allow things to take a natural course. She would somehow signal him if and when she were ready to show him deeper affection. It might be very subtle, but he was confident he would recognize it.

"Do you think there are nefarious people here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I suppose there are everywhere. But I doubt there are any more than what we see at home. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, when I was in the trees, my mind was conjuring up these images of…some depraved person who conceals himself by day, only to go out at night and hunt females that are alone."

"It's actually good that you had those thoughts. Maybe it hammered some sense into your stubborn head."

"You know, I was thinking…" she started out tremulously. "I've been so blind to the obvious signs from you. I felt jealousy, and, thinking back on it, you really _don't_ seem to want those girls. You didn't give them a second look. So my jealousy stemmed from them wanting you."

"Deanna, if I only want you, don't worry about who wants me."

Okay, so that summed it up pretty well. Such wise words. It was really so simple, so elementary, so obvious, and it made perfect sense to her. She'd been terribly unreasonable. He needed reinforcement from her that he was on right on target.

She scooted her chair firmly against his and jarred the hell out of him when she placed her hand on his leg, right above his knee. She'd never done anything even close to that before. He put his own hand over it, savoring her touch, feeling himself growing, making his pants tighter. It was just an automatic, unconscious reaction, but the biggest emotion he felt was affection. Things were going to be alright.

There were so many little, seemingly trivial things he could do to win her heart. He tried a few on for size. He kissed the back of her hand, then placed it back to its former place, just above his knee. He whispered sweet things into her ear, like "you're the one I want—the only one I want." Even with their chairs squeezed together, Davy made sure he was touching her wherever he could. Feet, ankles, knees, thighs, rubbing shoulders—he pressed into her.

He tried to smother a smile when she didn't withdraw. She liked it—his crowding. He'd have to do that a whole lot more often. A simple touch could do so much, and speak volumes too.

That damn robe of hers was on again. But they were outside, so it was viable. He wondered if she was going to take it off when they went back into the cottage. How would he keep his hands off her? He was still deathly afraid he would put his hands on her when asleep without meaning to. Going slow like this, though, he had to admit, was the ultimate aphrodisiac. It made him hard as a rock to think that someday—if they didn't keep having these fucking little tiffs, something would finally click in just the right way, and he knew instinctively that it would be explosive. God knows, he'd done so much fantasizing about it that when it finally_ did_ happen, odds were he would not be able to last long. That is, if he didn't lose her beforehand. That thought was always looming nearby, hounding him, badgering him. One wrong move and he feared she'd be put off permanently.

"I like the way you get into my personal space," she said. Her tone was a blatant attempt at flirting.

He was glad he'd made the right choice about that at least. Lovers should always get into each others' 0personal space. It was all part of the flirting game. Well, they weren't lovers yet, but still…he could tease her with sweet talk as well as stealing as much body contact as he could get away with.

Deanna suddenly remembered something he'd said during a prior conversation.

"_I love sex…absolutely love it."_

The memory sent a lightning strike cramp of lust straight to her uterus, and this was not a bad kind of cramp. It was the best kind. It curled and whipped all over the inside of her belly, spreading even into her fingertips and toes. She found it exciting beyond all measure that he would admit that to her, and in such an honest, open way.

Was that a charge crackling yet again through the atmosphere? More electricity between them, or just her enjoying the thought of those sensual words coming from his lips? She felt almost blissful, and knew they should probably go back into the cottage before she put her hands on him in more than merely a way that showed her desire, but in a _possessive_ way.

"Peter and I do this sometimes, just to be silly," Davy linked his arm with hers to demonstrate.

"You and Peter are the playful sort, aren't you?"

He had only to turn his charm up a notch. He knew that. She was wooing him in her own, quiet way. It made him want to serenade her. He could, if Peter were here, playing a guitar softly. But then, he and Deanna wouldn't be alone. He thought of the time at the love-in where he had won a singing contest. He had sung "Greensleeves," one of his all-time favorite songs. To him, the song was haunting, magical. It would be very nice if he could sing it to her, but he feared she would think he'd gone a little daffy. It reminded him of watching a musical, when all of a sudden one of the characters bursts into song, usually when you least expected it. Yeah, pretty goofy.

"I'd love to sing 'Greensleeves' to you sometime," he blurted out without thinking it over nearly as long as he should have.

"I love that song!" her eyes were bright. So…maybe he was on a roll now. Man, he needed a break! If only this easy, comfortable conversation would continue…

"When we go back in I will, I promise. Sure would like a guitar to accompany me though."

"Peter," said Deanna.

Davy paused. "How did you know I wasn't thinking of Mike?"

"Because Peter is distinctive, exceptional, in your eyes."

Davy stared at her curiously. How could she know of the bond between himself and Peter? He didn't think he'd talked about him all that much on this vacation. But maybe he had—unconsciously.

"Yes," he said simply, confirming her very accurate declaration.

"I wish there was a balcony here, like we had in the hotel room," he said wistfully. I could have serenaded you beneath the window. That's how it's done properly, you know."

"Let's go in…I can't wait to hear 'Greensleeves,'" and she grabbed his hand as they each used their other hand to scoop up the beach chairs. David perched himself on the couch while Deanna removed her robe and sat beside him, waiting expectantly. And the casual way she did it! He almost choked aloud.,"She'd flabbergasted him again.

Now, how was he supposed to sing when this beautiful woman sat beside him, wearing practically nothing? Just a see-through nightie? He tried to pull himself together so he wouldn't look like a dog, panting after her.

When he'd finished singing it, she'd clapped with real gusto, and Davy felt a twinge of embarrassment. But then she hugged him, and the embarrassment was forgotten.

"Your voice is so pure, so untainted," she said, her voice subdued because of the heavy emotions she'd felt as he had sung. It was such a beautiful song, and perfect for Davy, who had sounded noble and aristocratic.

"I love your baritone," she added.

"Peter's a baritone too," he said. "Mike and Micky are both tenors." Anything to get her to stop gushing over him. And, too late, he realized he'd mentioned Peter again too. That was twice in the last half hour. Three times, if you counted the time Deanna had mentioned him. He'd better be careful, or Deanna might get the wrong idea.

In the end, it was Davy's trademark, killer smile that melted every morsel of resolve not to take things faster than a snail's pace. He was deadly.

She had said, "I'm gonna have to hang around with Peter more when we get back to Malibu, and find out how he's won your heart." That had produced the smile that was his most effective weapon. He thought it sweet the way she had articulated that, even if it made him blush a little. He might not understand his feelings for Peter, but she didn't seem to be opposed to it.

In the bedroom, they welcomed the cool breeze coming off the ocean, the reflection of the waves shimmering on the walls. It felt magical to be here, on this night, together.

When Davy's lips first touched hers, she welcomed their cushioned softness. So alive, and yet, so yielding, so questing.

"I'm sorry," he said between deep kisses. "I don't normally gawk the way I have with you tonight. My eyes wander, and I seem to have lost control of them."

Deanna had never been prouder of herself when she had taken her robe off in the living room, where the light was not even dimmed. His eyes had flitted over her quick as a bat in the night, and she'd felt her cheeks start to burn crimson. But it had also turned her on.

"It made me feel desirable because you usually aren't that obvious," she responded.

"Well, I can get a lot more obvious," he purred, beginning to kiss her neck again, then back to her lips. He noticed her tongue was elusive, and wondered if she were like himself. He kissed deeply, but with no tongue unless things were getting highly passionate. He liked to use his tongue discriminatingly. He liked to chase a reaction. Challenges were his forte. He succeeded in catching her tongue a few minutes later, and sucked lightly on it. Deanna gasped, and came alive, sucking in his lower lip. The tension built instantaneously, hearts pounding wildly. She was finding out how nimble, how perceptive Davy was. His proficiency, his skills caused the inferno of her lust to rise ever higher, the heat of it tangibly scorching, yet instead of trying to escape it, she was drawn to the flame.

He kissed her collarbone, making her tense up for a second, then went back to the spot below her ear that half-tickled and half aroused her. Well, more like aroused her 85 percent and tickled 15 percent.

His masculine energy, balanced by her feminine energy, brought about a quiet hum of need. It might have been quiet, but the energy behind it rocked her to the core. Davy felt he might even come if she kept responding as eagerly as she was. And he'd never come while merely kissing a girl. He really hadn't thought it possible until now. He was still fully dressed, which astonished him all the more. It was her. She did it to him.

Deanna sat up straight to remove her nightgown. She hadn't done this for a man in a long time. In her haste and clumsiness, she got tangled in it, and Davy tactfully helped her to remove it. His steady hands guided it over her head. She didn't object. She simply let him undress her.

She got lost in his eyes as soon as the nightgown was thrown to the foot of the bed. He had a way of mesmerizing you to the point of immobilization. She was frozen, his eyes fastened to hers, and not letting go. She felt catatonic—in a stupor and not able to think.

As he'd guessed, it was becoming plain how inexperienced she was. Women who were experienced would have handled this differently, making sure they looked seductive and more graceful when shedding the nightgown, even if they needed his help. They wouldn't be shaking like a leaf as she was doing. Experienced women knew how to taunt a man, make him desperate, cause him to suffer from deprivation before they finally gave in.

Deanna wasn't devious in these ways. She wasn't cunning, artful or crafty. She looked like a frightened child, and up until now, he'd had no idea he would feel the way he currently did. Confused, confounded, directionless. He wondered again, as he had before, if she were really a virgin, but hadn't admitted it to him. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility, and she might be ashamed, if it were indeed the case. That was how ambiguous she seemed. As if she didn't know what her next move should be, or if she should even make one. She'd said she'd been with other guys, but her obvious lack of experience was jolting, unsettling. Above all, he didn't want to traumatize her.

When he approached her after the nightgown was removed, she didn't deflect him, but she didn't welcome him either. He'd never been in this position with a woman. She had removed her nightgown, yet seemed oblivious to what might come next. His heart bled for her. And he wasn't sure exactly why.

He wanted to hold her, soothe her, hug her and offer consolation, yet he also lusted after her, wanted to make love to her, and this slightly disturbing combination of feelings were jumbled in his brain in a massive mat that would take care, patience, and diligence to unravel. A mat that had once only been a tangle…

"Are you sure you've been with men before?" he asked. "Because I'm getting unclear vibes. And I don't... don't want to do anything to distress you..."

She nodded. "Yes, but I've never been with _you_ before, and…it's all that matters to me. I'm starting over. As far as I'm concerned, you will be my first...


	11. Chapter 11

Davy felt as if he could have been knocked over with one flick of a finger, much less a feather. Even though Deanna had been with others, she was going to consider him her first. That meant he was special to her. Special enough that she was going to proceed as if the others had never existed. Only him…

What more of a compliment could he ask for? It affected him deeply; he was truly overcome. He hoped he could live up to her expectations, whatever they might be. Funny, he'd never been nervous about women and the bedroom, except for maybe the very first few times when he'd been a young teen. He almost felt as if he would be discovering something all over again, but this time, it would be with the right person.

Instinctively though, he was pretty sure he knew what to do. He had to slow down and think this through. Things would have to evolve at their own pace, and he reminded himself to forget the meaning of rushing. That word would not even exist in his vocabulary. No pressure, no pushing, not even persuasion.

_No expectations._

Deanna was the band leader. She was in the driver's seat. The one who would run the show.

Yet things weren't quite right with Deanna, although he wasn't sure of the root cause. Her nervous mannerisms made him feel like falling apart. She was stiff, looking very insecure. The compassion he felt for her strangled his gut. He wondered if the guys she'd been with had actually railroaded her into sex. Lord knows she'd had enough strain in her past, as he now knew her history. Reason enough for her to be so flighty and anxious.

If he was kissing her, she was responsive and eager. But the moment he stopped, she seized up. As if she were waiting for something ominous to happen.

Disconcerted, Davy's eyes darted to and fro, not sure where to settle. His mind was furiously at work. Another idea came to him, but this wasn't the best time to bring it up. So he stopped cuddling and kissing her, albeit fighting a huge clash from within, because he wanted, with a fervor, to continue. He took care to change the atmosphere so he could concentrate, and she could give him her undivided attention, because what he had to say was important.

After he wrestled with himself inwardly, finally convincing his mind and body to stop kissing her, he sat up against the headboard.

"Calling a meeting," he said, hoping to inject a little humor.

Deanna had been busy trying to brace for what was to come, so when Davy abruptly cut things off, she was bewildered. She lay there, staring at him sitting up against the headboard, fully clothed, with a sober expression on his face. So solemn—he was very good at that when he wanted to be.

"Okay," she replied, taking particular notice, and sitting up herself, but pulling the sheet up to cover her nakedness.

"Do you think I'm going to turn into some kind of depraved monster and ravage you ruthlessly?"

_The way he put that!_ She realized he was trying to put her at ease by being light about it. It worked. She laughed. But she also sensed the seriousness, the significance that was behind his attempt at making it comical. It wasn't something minor. He was being subtle, but still absolutely getting the message across.

"What kind of debauchery would that be?" he went on. "I'm not wicked or malicious, yet you seem almost to… _expect_ that."

She looked down at the sheet, knowing he was very much aware of how high she held it to her chest—almost to her neck. She hated the way she was acting so modest. He leaned over and whispered in her ear so as not to make it sound coarse by saying it aloud.

"Sex isn't supposed to be giving in to someone, if that's what you were expecting."

Her cheeks burned furiously. What an embarrassing thing to be talking about. She felt almost humiliated. She wasn't a little girl! But he wanted to talk about it, so she supposed she'd have to go along—fear, reservations and all.

"But isn't it a requirement between two people if they are in a relationship?" she asked.

Dave choked down a guffaw. It would have sounded rude, but he wouldn't have meant it that way. He was just stunned. He could hardly focus, he was so confused. He felt as if there were a knot in his tongue. A knot in his stomach. A knot in his heart…

"Requirement? You think of it as a _requirement?"_ he asked in astonishment. She couldn't possibly be serious.

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. She looked so small and innocent, sitting there huddled under the sheet. He wanted nothing more than to protect her, seal her away from the world that had hurt her so.

"So…" he tried really hard to say the right thing. "You've been in relationships, and thought you were _required_ to have sex with the guys?"

"Well…yeah, I guess. It was just something I had to do, even though I dreaded it."

It was as if the wind had been sucked right out of his lungs. With a gargantuan effort, he dragged the needed air into his body, trying to remember to continue to breathe. Baffled was a very benign word when it came to describing how he felt. Horrified was more like it. How could she be that naïve? Thinking she had to do something she didn't want to do?

"That's _not_ how it's supposed to be, Deanna. It isn't a 'woman's duty,' or however they used to put it back in the forties, or the fifties, or whatever. Both parties are supposed to enjoy it… a lot. _Not_ just the man."

Deanna was not a stupid girl. He knew that. Yet, she looked at him in a way that made him wonder if she comprehended what he was saying. Was she not aware this was the sixties, and women were coming into their own?

"Your friend… Cassie… did you tell her how you feel about… sex?"

Deanna looked ashamed, dejected. "No, actually I haven't. I was too embarrassed to admit that I don't like it like she apparently does."

"Well, you've dated some bloody tossers," he said with disgust and a grimace. "Tossers, the lot of them," he practically spit the words out.

"Tossers?"

"Jerks, complete jerks," he answered. "Idiots."

"I don't know much, Davy," she said pleadingly. "I don't know what I'm_ supposed_ to feel, but I do know I've never liked it."

_This was unreal._

Davy tried to project his sincerity. "Listen to me…" he felt a growing impulsion to get the message across to her. He took her face between his hands. "You don't ever have to do anything you have any doubts about doing_. Ever_. Not with me, not with anyone else. I want you to understand that."

"You mean, you don't expect-?"

"No, I absolutely do not expect you to yield to me like you have with the others. The only way in this world I'd want you to… do something…would be if you truly wanted to—truly desired it."

"But I don't, so where do we go from here?"

Davy blew out a sigh that held sorrow and heartache for her sake, but no impatience on his part, then scratched his head in befuddlement. He didn't have the first clue of how he should handle this. He thought he'd seen it all with girls, but this one had really thrown him for a loop. "The way you kiss me…" He trailed off, thinking better of it. Best not to tell her that he knew she _did_ want it, deep inside. That would sound too much like wheedling. He knew desire when he saw it. But he decided it was best to let her discover that for herself. This was touchy and could get perilous if he didn't practice a whole lot of caution and tact.

Making up his mind, he squared his jaw.

"We wait. We sit back, continue on as we have been on our vacation, having loads of fun, and if something should happen, then so be it. But I will never, ever ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable with me. You know, we really do need to push this out of our heads and just have fun."

Deanna wished she could articulate to Davy what an astronomical relief that was for her to hear. To not have to think about it, worry about it, was a massive burden he'd just lifted from her shoulders. She did feel completely different with him than any other guy. She felt such bottled up passion when they kissed and cuddled. Like a soda can that has been shaken, and has built up a lot of pressure, just waiting for the cap to be removed so it could explode. She'd felt that way when using her vibrator, so she was familiar with the feeling. But with Davy, it was like a thousand times stronger. She wondered if he might… just might, be different than the other guys. Was it really possible? He'd said that women are supposed to enjoy it. She'd only used her vibrator out of necessity, because of her tremendous sexual frustration, but if she were to enjoy it with Davy, well… that thought was, frankly, intriguing. Is that what he'd been rather strongly hinting at? That he could make her actually _want_ to make love with him?

After thinking about it for a couple of minutes, she ventured forth. "I'm curious, Davy. Really embarrassed, yeah, but curious. I'd like to know more about it."

Well, if this wasn't the most outlandish conversation he'd ever had in his life! She was a walking surprise. He remembered how, in England, a lady had taught him how to please a woman. Girls and women had always come on to him, even back then, so he'd decided one day that this particular lady might be a good introduction to matters of intimacy. She was older than he was, although he didn't know exactly how much older. He had only been fourteen, so it was difficult for him to gauge. He still remembered her words…"Keep practicing until you get it right." And he had-on her. He had learned from her how to pleasure a woman. So he'd had an advantage right from the start. And he'd put it to good use. He was glad he had that knowledge now. Even though he was confident between the sheets, he still wanted to give Deanna as much pleasure as was humanly possible, if the time ever came that she would trust him enough to believe him that he would not hurt her, and instead, would bring her the kind pleasure he suspected she had no idea existed. And he would eagerly add heaps of affection to go with it.

"Tell me in what way you're curious," he said carefully, cautiously.

Deanna was ashamed that she knew so little. About sex, and about the male body. She had never had any brothers, and the guys she'd been with had been so intent on just getting it on that they had never given her a chance to even get a good look at them. It had always been frantic, and usually in the dark. Her fear hadn't helped either. So she hadn't been observant. She didn't know how to explain this to Davy without sounding like a complete imbecile.

"Well, I've never really been able to…look…I mean, things happened… so quickly."

He shook his head, again feeling extreme disgust. She sure hadn't had a nice introduction to intimacy. Wracking his brains, an idea formed. He didn't know how it would go over, but all he could do was present it to her and hope she wouldn't take offense, or worse, be revolted.

"Okay, tell me if this is just too far out for you…but, I have an idea. You can look at me all you want… and I won't do a thing. You can examine me to your heart's content." He giggled on purpose, hoping to ease her stressed state of mind. After what she'd been through, she had to be skeptical, and he had enough empathy to know that.

Her eyes wide, Deanna tried to imagine it. When she realized what he was saying, at first she was doubtful there was any way it would lessen her fears. But the more she mulled it over, the more sense it made. It would be _less _threatening than anything she'd faced before. Davy was brilliant!

Davy lay there and just let her think, purposely bringing his energy level down the way Peter had taught him to do when he was wired and too hyper to sleep. He just breathed deep, relaxed all over, muscle by muscle, and waited on her. Tried to be mellow like Peter.

She stirred a little, and their eyes met.

"You mean, here, in the bed…" she began.

He smiled. "Yes. You can undress me, or I can do it, and then I'll get into bed, and I'll just let you have your way with me." He chuckled, and saw that, when he'd mentioned his clothes coming off, she'd looked almost terrified for a moment. But this quickly gave way to her naturally inquisitive nature.

"You would do that for me?" She sounded incredulous, and it jarred him. The anger welled up again. Those sods that she'd been with hadn't even given her a choice, a chance to learn about men!

"Of course I would! You're curious, and in order to overcome your fear, you need to check me out. _But… at your own pace."_

Those guys she'd been with had, in a way, practically raped her. She hadn't put up a fight because she thought it was how things were supposed to be with a couple, but it made no difference. They'd still exploited her, used her like a chess piece. He wanted to smash all their faces in. His hands curled into fists by his side. Deanna saw, and she reached out and touched the fist closest to her.

"Are you upset?" she asked.

"With the guys, yeah, you bet. They used you," he gritted this out without saying more, for fear he'd start ranting about it again. How they had used this wonderful girl was atrocious. Bloody bastards. He ached with the thought of how they'd very nearly ruined her chance for love later on.

She thought a while longer, then bravely turned her head to him. He saw real resolve in her silver gaze.

"Okay. Okay, let's do that."

He could tell how hard it had been for her to agree to his plan. He'd make it as easy as he possibly could.

"Okay, well, how do you want to do it?" he asked.

"Um… I'll go into the living room, and you get undressed and into bed, under the sheet. Call me when you're ready. I'm not promising that I'll even be able to… um… look under the sheet," she warned.

Davy tried not to show his amusement, and schooled his face into a serious, yet tender look. It wasn't at all funny, but she sounded as if she were afraid his cock might jump out and attack her.

"Alright, mate. It's out to the living room you go!"

Deanna grabbed her nightie that was on the foot of the bed, slipped it over her head with her back to Davy, and left the room. She was so demure, even now. He decided to leave the bathroom door as it was. It was dark enough to help put her at ease, yet light enough that she'd be able to see his body fairly well if she so desired.

As he undressed, he had to prompt himself about being absolutely passive. He didn't want her to ever see him as the slightest threat. He wasn't used to girls behaving in this way, so he'd have to have a great deal of patience. It might take a long time, and they might even go back to Malibu without having been intimate, but he would do whatever was necessary to at least help her to feel comfortable with him.

Deanna was apprehensive, but she was also excited. This was novel—something no man had ever offered her before. She'd never had any options at all, really. Here was a chance to be in charge. A chance to learn. And what better person than Davy to show her the way?

Knowing he'd be under the sheet helped tremendously. She wasn't under any obligation either. She believed him when he said that. He'd never deceived her yet. Davy seemed to overflow with his sense of fairness. He got it, he really got it. He, for one, understood her and her fear. He was the only one in the entire world who knew about her intimacy issues.

Deanna knocked softly on the door and he called out to her to come in. He was under the sheet, as promised. She approached the bed, and taking a deep, cleansing breath, she lifted a corner of the sheet as little as possible, then slid smoothly in.

Their eyes met. His held an undisguised emotion. He didn't reach for her, or move at all. He was on his side, one of the pillows under his head. Did he really mean she had full reign to do whatever she wanted? She wanted to explore and examine his body in the worst way. But it was that first touch of skin to skin that held her back.

So she started with something safe- his face. She grazed her fingertips up and down his soft, hairless cheek, from his temple down to his jaw. His eyes were so stunning that she, like many times before, felt like diving into them. When her fingers reached his full lips, his breath hitched slightly. It was stimulating, feeling the texture of his lips, those same sensual lips that had melted into hers so many times.

He remained passive, and this boosted her confidence, emboldened her. She slid her forefinger down his neck. He squirmed a little, not knowing what to expect. His mind kept nagging at him, reminding him he was naked, and she was nearly so. He'd never had to exercise this kind of tight control before. It was eerie, yet unbelievably arousing.

Deanna's fascination with his body, and seeing more of it was slowly eclipsing her bashfulness. Her fingers closed on his biceps next, and she felt a jolt of delight at how hard it was. Davy instinctively flexed his muscles a bit as she squeezed his arm. It pleased him that she noticed it. Down to his forearm her hand went, and it was also hard as a rock. She made an appreciative sound.

When her hand eventually got to his chest, things got a lot more interesting. She'd already seen his bare chest, of course, but this was different. Actually touching it, feeling it. In her explorations, she ran her finger across his nipple, and he sucked in a sharp breath. This caused a surge of womanly power in her.

_She could make him feel good._

She continued, now with both hands on his chest. When she touched his opposite nipple, she got the same response, so she knew it hadn't been a fluke the first time. The knowledge that his nipples were sensitive delighted her. She'd never known a man could have sensitive nipples. She was beginning to realize how little she actually knew about men. She'd never had a chance to find out much at all. But here, right now, Davy was allowing her to discover what aroused him. That was hard to resist.

Sultry- that's how she looked, he thought to himself. Her quicksilver eyes were serious and focused; she was concentrating solely on him. It made him oddly dizzy. She raised the sheet and drew it back to his mid-stomach so she could look at his torso. Whoa there… she'd almost pulled it back too far. The head of his erection was only an inch below the top of the sheet.

She "accidentally" rubbed a nipple again, for the third time, and now there was no doubt in her mind that he liked it. A faint moan came from his throat, his eyes narrowed as he enjoyed the sensation. She'd have fun with this later on, when they were more familiar with each other. She wanted to know all the ways she could excite him. Every last one of them.

She trailed her fingers lower now, heading toward his navel. Her touch was caressing, prompting him to breathe deeply. His stomach clenched tightly instinctively, wanting to feel her hand down lower.

_She was getting too close._

If she'd had bad experiences, he didn't know how she'd react if and when she saw how hard he was. The male penis could be quite intimidating. It might bring back unpleasant memories-maybe even flashbacks. He wanted to spare her that. He debated in his mind about whether he should say anything.

"You're… um… getting kind of low there," he said, knowing it sounded lame, but wanting her to have a fair warning.

"You're right, I am." And she stopped touching him. Now_ this_ he hadn't expected. He was suddenly sorry he'd said something. He'd wanted her to continue touching and stroking him, even if it was above the waist. He just wanted that contact with her. That apparent fascination with his body. It made him feel so special. Okay, so maybe it fed his ego a little bit, but it all boiled down, in the end, to the affection. He needed it –hadn't had it in longer than he had realized. Her kind of affection was so different from any other woman he'd been with. She treated his body with reverence, respect. She had a certain softness, tenderness that belonged to him alone. And that nearly drove him mad.

"Deanna, you don't have to stop touching me. I just… wanted to… let you know…"

She understood his somewhat cryptic statement. She knew his male parts were not much lower down than where the sheet rested. She wanted, _needed_ to see it, but at the same time, those man parts had brought her nothing but pain, never pleasure.

"I'm gentle," his voice quivered just a little bit. "Keep that in mind. I'm not aggressive. Well, I am aggressive in some ways, but not with women. And loving you in bed…never."

_He'd used the word "loving." _She adored that, hungered to hear it again.

That hoisted her self-confidence, and she suddenly lifted up the sheet and looked beneath it. In that instant, Davy ran out of air. It just all whooshed out of his mouth. She looked like a five year old little girl peeking into the boys' fort or something. Extremely hesitant, yet very curious to the point of not being able to resist.

Her gasp filled the room when she saw his erection. Then she couldn't stop looking at it. It was as if her eyes would not move, or settle elsewhere. It came back to her in an instant. She remembered being prodded, then entered when she wasn't ready, the pounding, the ache it caused during and afterward.

She dropped the sheet and moved back. "I'm sorry, Davy. I had no idea…"

_Had no idea. What did that mean?_

"What do you mean? That I'm… aroused?" he asked softly.

"Well, yeah… but also…your… um… size."

Girls had commented on that quite often. That he was bigger than they had expected. Not that he was huge by any means, but on occasion, a small guy could possess a good sized one, and he just happened to be one of the more fortunate ones. He was rather proud of it, as a matter of fact. Girls had always seemed pleased with it.

"I'm sorry if it scares you," he said.

"No, it's not that_ it_ scares me, it's just…more likely to… hurt."

He embraced her. It was a shame she had to feel that way. "I told you I'd never hurt you. When I make a promise, I keep it. Okay, this is getting out of hand. Let's stop before you really start getting scared." As much as he didn't want to stop, he knew their relationship might depend on it. So he retreated mentally.

"You'd stop for me?" Her question puzzled him.

"Of course."

"The others didn't. They expected it, and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Assholes," he said, becoming angry again. "Sorry for the language, but I just can't see how that is much different from rape."

They held each other, and her breasts pressed softly against his chest like pillows. Her breath was soft and moist against his neck, a torture that he could hardly bear.

_She knew it. He was going to start bugging her at any moment now_. _Imploring her to please, please let him._ _She just knew it._

It never came. He continued to hold her, consoling her however he could. Rubbing her upper back tenderly with his palms, never making an improper move, murmuring to her about a new beginning with him. That he would prove she could trust him under any circumstance.

She began to relax when she realized he wasn't going to pressure her. Inch by inch, her muscles let go as she recalled how he'd never tried anything with her. Even when they'd been kissing so passionately. And now… here he was with her, naked in bed, and with an intimidating erection, and he didn't ask a thing of her. She wondered how difficult that was for him.

_No expectations._

Davy had gone into this with none, and he'd remain that way. All was quiet for a while, and he had started to wonder if she had fallen asleep when she spoke up.

"Maybe I'm ready to trust again…" she said tentatively. So she'd been thinking about it during the silence.

"And I hope you'll let it be me," he answered.

"Of course with you—only you," she emphasized.

His heart swelled.

"There are many layers to you, Deanna. You don't want to get close to guys for fear of intimacy. Not only because you've been hurt, both physically and emotionally, but also because you're afraid of being vulnerable to more hurt. I can see all of it, and I understand all of it. I feel your need too, you know."

He had hit the bulls-eye again.

A moment later, he infused humor again. "So, do you still like me, despite the fact that my body is betraying me by being so blatantly obvious about my attraction to you?"

"I still like you, and yes, I still respect you too, despite your… _problem."_

Davy laughed.

What do you do at the Pad on a typical night?" asked Deanna.

Davy was taken aback for a beat, then he realized she was trying to loosen up and get accustomed to being naked in bed with him. Talking was her way of dealing with it.

"Well, depends on if we have a gig that night or not. After a gig we're always tired and go to bed fairly soon after we get home. If we only practiced, we'd stay up late, and Mike and Peter, you see, would be likely to have one of their deep, philosophical conversations. To be honest, a lot of it goes right over my head. Mike is very deep. You have to be on top of it to keep up with him. And Peter gives the false impression of being simple-minded, and he's anything but. He's brilliant, just naïve. He's anti-Establishment, and really, all any of us guys want is peace.

Anyway, I digress. They can go at it for hours. Peter can hold his own with Mike, and that's not a walk in the park. I hold them both in high esteem.

Micky's not easy to get to know. He hides a lot behind humor. But I think I have his number now. He can't sit still for long, so puzzles or cards bore the hell out of him. So while Mike and Peter talk, Micky and I watch TV or humor each other with jokes. Right now, I bet Micky and Peter are smoking some pot, and Mike is reading some intricate book that I wouldn't be able to grasp if I read it a zillion times."

"Why do you think they're smoking pot?"

"Oh, they do it now and then. And of course… they're missing me," he grinned mischievously. "It helps to take the edge off the grief."

Deanna giggled. He was funny. Naturally so. She could see him holding up his end of the jokes very well with the guys. He was full of come-backs.

"And what will Micky do at night when you aren't there to tell jokes with?"

"Besides smoke pot? Probably go over to a girl's house."

"Is he promiscuous… like you used to be?"

Disconcerted, Davy wondered at the way she'd worded that. _Like he used to be._ He didn't know if he should take it as a compliment, or a put-down. He decided assume the former, and let it go without commenting.

"Yeah, he's the most promiscuous of the three of them. Mike is quiet, private and…unforthcoming, you might say. Peter is just plain shy. Not many girls meet Mike's exacting expectations. Peter loves girls, but his confidence is severely lacking."

She loved Davy's integrity. He was so open, and that had caused her to open up herself, more than she had to anyone-even her best friend Cassie.

Out of the blue, Deanna started up the previous conversation again. "Why are guys so gung-ho about getting a girl into bed?"

Davy felt this was real progress, that she was showing such interest, so he encouraged it. "Some guys let their hormones rule them," he explained. "It's also not easy being a guy. Self- control is not always that easy to…obtain." He chuckled. "I mean, look at the state I'm in now."

"I know. But… it hurts. And after seeing you… down there, I don't see how it wouldn't hurt with you too," she said in a tiny, regretful voice.

"One word answer for that," he said. "Foreplay. It's imperative. Most guys are too damn horny, or too damn lazy to learn about foreplay and how important it is."

_Foreplay._ She'd heard about it, of course, and Cassie had referred to it, but Deanna wasn't entirely sure what was involved. She waited, hoping he'd elaborate.

"As far as I'm concerned, foreplay should start as soon as you wake up in the morning, and continue all day, until you go to bed at night," he said. She was clearly engrossed, hanging onto his every word. Instinct told him to continue.

"Foreplay can be as simple as a kiss on the cheek, or neck, a hug, a random touch, or even just a look," he explained. A million little things. It makes things all the sweeter when you finally go to bed, bringing on even more foreplay. More intense too. And the end result definitely would not hurt."

"But how do you know for sure it wouldn't hurt?"

"Deanna, you'd be ready. And that's the key to…pleasurable love making. Foreplay makes that possible."

"In what way would I be ready?"

Oh boy, bless her for asking questions and trying to educate herself, but they were becoming tricky to answer. How to explain how she'd be ready without getting explicit?

His mind floundered about desperately for a way to say it subtly, delicately. He finally settled on simply saying, "Deanna, it would embarrass you if I were to explain that." This way, if she kept insisting, forcing him to explain, he couldn't be blamed for her extreme embarrassment, or maybe even mortification.

The girl used a vibrator, he already knew that. So he had naturally thought she'd know what "being ready" meant. But then, a vibrator was inanimate, not a living, breathing person. A vibrator was "controllable," a person, not necessarily so. You really couldn't compare the two. In any case, she was far more inexperienced than he'd thought. He'd really underestimated it.

Whether she was pouting because he wouldn't give her a direct answer, or just mulling it over, he didn't know, but she was silent again for a while.

This conversation, in reality, was inspiring her, giving her hope. She tried to imagine Davy "practicing" his all-day foreplay with her. She suspected he already did that to an extent, because he was always making her feel good about herself, but what if he were to step it up a little? It sounded as if that was his plan. He had her truly wondering if his actions and manner might be enough to get her "ready."

"It sounds captivating, Davy. Can we… do that… tomorrow?"

"Sure," he smiled. I'd love to do that. We can play it by ear." He was pleased, genuinely pleased. She was open to being slowly and sweetly seduced. He could think of all kinds of things he could do to put her trepidations to rest, while working slowly up to seduction at the same time. The whole idea was spectacularly arousing for him.

"Now… you gave me the opportunity to see you, and explore you. Do you want to do the same… to me?" she asked.

Davy thought he must not have heard her right. His head swirled, his brain short circuited, and he felt a bit on the numb side. He couldn't gather his wits. Then he saw she was actually removing her nightgown under the sheet.

"Of course I do," he said with a deceivingly cool demeanor, even though his thoughts were completely at odds with his outward appearance. He was good at disguising his true feelings. It had been a requirement when he was growing up in some of the rougher neighborhoods of Manchester.

He wasn't convinced this was a good idea at all. If she should have a bad reaction, or panic, it could ruin their plans for tomorrow. And his concern was more for her than himself. She was fragile emotionally when it came to men, and with good reason. On top of that, he didn't know how to proceed. He supposed he could start out super slow—slower even than she'd gone with his own body. That might be the safest avenue.

He'd start with her face, as she had done to him. Yeah, that should be harmless enough. She lay there, waiting expectantly, and he saw her tremble a little. She was trying to face her fear, doing it for him. He couldn't have been more flattered.

He'd try to do her proud. Slowly, he reached the short distance between them to her cheek, stroking his fingers over it, smiling into her eyes, trying to send a silent message that she needn't worry about a thing. From her cheek to her jawline he lightly dragged his fingers, just as she had done. He followed the same pattern. But when he got to her neck, she began to tense up. The lower his fingers went, he knew the more nervous she would become. He didn't raise the sheet, just kept his hands below them so she wouldn't feel exposed.

"Want me to stop?" he asked as his caresses reached her collarbone.

"I'm… not sure," her voice was quaking, and Davy knew enough to realize she wasn't ready.

"I'll tell you what. You're smashing. Simply smashing, even without seeing your body naked. But I don't think you're ready for this. Let's just go with our plans for tomorrow and just see what happens then."

She looked incredibly relieved, and he realized he'd been right in his assumption that she was not ready to handle this yet.

"Yes… let's just… go with the flow tomorrow. You're right- I'm too uptight right now."

"True, that," he agreed.

Davy's thoughts were spinning out of control. Here was a girl he wanted more than any other girl he'd known. And in every way. Above everything else, he wanted her unconditional trust. He wanted her to believe in him.

_Damn, Jones. She went on vacation to Hawaii with you! Isn't that proof enough she's interested? This isn't like you! Buck up and have more faith in yourself than that, man!__ You're a warrior, a challenger, but most of all, you're a lover.  
_

So, she'd chickened out. Deanna felt a stab of disappointment in herself. But she felt she deserved credit in that she'd still come a long way tonight, looking at his body the way she had, and there was the promise of tomorrow that she had to look forward to. She would get to sample his mastery when it came to foreplay. Find out what this was all about. More than sample it—she'd get to enjoy it all day long, bask in it. She had a feeling it would be well worth waiting for.

To his shock, she didn't retreat to her side of the bed as he had expected. She snuggled right up to him, causing him to feel a surge of fierce protectiveness.

He'd just about given up on finding a girl with her unique traits. A girl with depth, sweetness, and such sincerity. All his previous affairs had been superficial and shallow. He wasn't a damn fool. He wasn't a quitter either. He'd fight for her. He was a warrior after all, wasn't he?


	12. Chapter 12

All night long…her body was barely a breath away; in fact, most of the time it was actually touching him. And here he'd worried he'd somehow become inappropriate while sleeping! _She_ was the one clinging to _him,_ her limbs entwined with his at times, her hand in his hair, her foot caressing his foot, a soft breast resting against the sensitive underside of his arm, her hair draping over his chest and neck. It was a night of pure sensation. Alternating between enjoying her closeness while awake and sleeping, he had all manner of sweet dreams of her. Of kissing her, touching her, making love to her. Wherever his mind was—whether in slumber or wide awake, her presence was never forgotten for a solitary moment. It surrounded him…silky soft and tantalizing.

And... she never drew away when she came in contact with his near-constant erection. She made him feel like a natural, unaffected man, not a pervert or someone who falsifies himself. He was just _David,_ and that was all. He felt almost as much of a free spirit as Peter, almost as unconventional. His body was merely declaring its desire for her, and she seemed not to feel threatened in any way.

He could get too used to this. Other women had either been cold and rigid in bed after sex, or they made him feel smothered. But it seemed that no matter how entangled they were, Deanna never once made him feel at all restricted.

He'd felt used before, like some of the women just wanted to be able to say they'd slept with him.

_See that guy up on stage there? I fucked him._

But they'd had nothing of substance to offer him—just empty sex. A temporary release. That wasn't enough. So he'd gradually taken to not staying the entire night with them. He'd felt a shallowness in them that, in turn, left _him _feeling empty and shallow. Yet, Deanna, whom he hadn't even made love to, was gravitating toward him even in her sleep, as if she yearned for the same things he did.

That entire night was glorious for Davy. He woke feeling rested and peaceful, and… _happy._ They lay there for a while, not even bothering to remove their limbs from each other, smiling, listening to the waves, each savoring their own thoughts when there came a knock at the door.

Davy sighed, really hating to have to break their special spell as he dragged his calf out from under Deanna's to throw on his robe and answer the door. It was Edna, the woman who was renting the cottage to them.

"I hope I didn't bother you kids," she said, eyeing Davy in his robe and bare feet. "Norman and I wondered if you two would like to have breakfast with us. I always make too many pancakes," she said bashfully, as if it were a sin.

"Well, let me ask me wife," Davy said smoothly, slipping easily into the role. "Luv?" he called out in the direction of the bedroom. "Edna is here and wondered if we'd like to have breakfast with her and Norman this morning."

"Sure, that's fine with me," her voice floated back. He loved how graciously she'd accepted the offer.

"Oh, good!" Norma clasped her hands in glee. "How about ten? Can you make it then?" she asked.

Davy glanced at the clock on the far wall. It was nine.

"Sure. I think we can make that just fine. It was charming of you to ask us," he added. His English accent and politeness thrilled Edna. That was a Northern accent. She'd know it anywhere. She'd had a friend, a long distance pen pal, who had died of heart failure, and she'd sounded a lot like Davy. She'd been from Manchester. Norma loved just listening to him. Such a nice boy, and so cute, that even though she had trouble tearing her eyes away, she had equal difficulty looking into his eyes. His gaze was so direct. It was so deep and knowing. And on someone so young…rare indeed.

"See you then!" she scampered away with the fleetness of a woman many years younger than she actually was. Davy smiled to himself and went back to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry, Deanna. I couldn't get out of it…"

"Oh, don't worry Davy! I love that couple! We can have breakfast with them and then…"

"Begin our day together," he finished for her. "Our foreplay day," he added slyly, shooting her a sidelong glance, and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips.

An hour later, they walked briskly toward Norman and Edna's cottage.

"Let's hurry—we daren't be late," said Davy.

"But we're right on time," protested Deanna.

"I know, but the thought of losing out on those pancakes… I can smell them from here," he sighed, letting the aroma envelop him.

There wasn't a dull moment at breakfast. If Norman wasn't telling them about his younger days and his adventures, Edna was telling them about hers. She told them about her friend named Doris that Davy's accent had reminded her of earlier, who had moved back to England, her place of birth, and they'd been pen pals for thirty years. Edna never had the opportunity to go to England to visit her before her death.

"And you, my boy… you must be from Manchester," Edna said to Davy.

"How did you know?" Davy's eyes widened in surprise. Americans weren't good at pinning down the different English dialects and accents.

"Your accent. I knew it almost right off. You sound just like Doris," and Edna's eyes shone bright with tears that were held back.

"What brought you to the U.S.?" asked Norman, knowing his wife was getting emotional.

"Music. I had always dreamed of America, and I wanted to be a singer with an American band," was Davy's reply. That was when he told the older couple the story behind the Monkees.

Edna then turned to Deanna for her story. Deanna told of her job in the library, and her dream of becoming a writer, and going to school to study it.

Meanwhile, Davy was playing "footsies" with Deanna under the table, and sitting _way _too close to her. It was distracting in the most delicious way. She could feel her skin flushing from the desire it brought on.

"You have such a glow about you!" Edna suddenly directed at Deanna. "Could it be… could it be that you're… in a family way?"

Well, if Deanna weren't blushing before, she certainly was now. No one would argue that point.

"Oh no… no, I'm not," breathed Deanna, recalling then that Norman and Edna thought they were married. She also remembered how Edna had thought she was a new bride, and that made her blush deepen. Edna probably thought they'd had to get married. Davy's mind was on the same thing. She knew, because when she looked at him, he had a teasing smirk on his face.

"Edna," scolded Norman gently. "You've made her blush."

Of course, Edna thought that was adorable, and started to gush again about what a darling couple they were.

Aside from the embarrassment, Deanna felt so at home in Norman and Edna's cottage. It was cozy and homey the way only a very content, happy elderly couple's home could be. Many plants adorned the kitchen, shiny pots and pans hung on the walls, and Deanna marveled at all the stories they had to tell of their life together. It made her long for the same thing when she was their age.

Davy slipped another piece of bacon into his mouth and clasped his hand around Deanna's wrist nearest him, which happened to be resting on the table, caressing it tenderly, eliciting a shiver from her. Right in front of Norman and Edna. Then he laid his hand on her knee, but in a very sweet way, raising his eyebrows at Deanna when she looked at him inquiringly. He was playing with her, flirting. Allowing the sparks to fly with a satisfied sigh, she realized the foreplay had indeed begun…

* * *

"Wanna rent a kayak today? It's your day, so you decide." They stood there, holding hands, having been walking along the beach, and having left the jeep at the cottage. It felt so natural, so right, holding his hand.

Deanna gave a little hop of joy. "Yes!" There was no hesitation, and Davy knew the day was off to a great beginning.

As they pushed off, after having gotten a cursory, bare minimum of instruction from the guy who had rented it to them, Davy was glad he was already familiar with kayaks, and he headed in the direction the guy had told him where he'd find a very small islet that was fairly secluded. There was limited cargo capacity, but they'd found room for some fruit and juice to keep hunger and thirst at bay. Davy planned to keep Deanna on the islet for a couple of hours. With any luck, it would qualify as romantic.

"It's a good thing the waters are so calm today, because these things can tip over in waves," he mentioned. "This one we're in isn't one of the most stable I've seen, but it's a double, so it's more stable than a single would be."

"Oh, thanks a lot," said Deanna sarcastically, referring to the tipping over remark.

"We have a low center of gravity, so don't worry. Just follow my instructions if we run into any kind of trouble, which is very doubtful."

"So you've done this before?" she asked. It seemed there wasn't much he hadn't done when it came to the outdoors.

"Yeah, a few times. Once you get going, relax your hips and do a few brace strokes, you'll get into the groove, and you'll be fine."

"What is a brace stroke?"

She followed his example as he demonstrated for her. He was sitting in front so it was easy to imitate him, and she found that it was easier than she had anticipated. After a while, she started to relax and enjoy the view, helping Davy as well as she knew how to navigate to their destination. They got out of synch now and then with their rowing, and he would simply stop rowing and wait for her to start again, never showing a hint of impatience or temper. She wondered if it was all a show for her benefit, or if that was his true disposition on an average day. Was he this obliging and amenable at the Pad?

They had trouble finding the islet, and Davy feared it would ruin their kayak adventure, but just as he was getting ready to admit to her that he apparently wasn't going to be able to locate it, and turn the kayak around, there it was, on their left. Neither one had noticed it. Only about a hundred feet long and maybe fifty feet wide, but it was all the room they needed. And no one else was there. They would be completely alone, as the guy who had rented the kayak to them had predicted.

They pulled the kayak onto the sand, although Deanna knew Davy did the bulk of the pulling, as she couldn't seem to budge the thing. Davy did a few dance steps to celebrate arriving at the islet, and Deanna watched on in amusement.

"I knew you had stage presence, but now I see you also have island presence," she said. Davy threw his head back and laughed carelessly. If he was anything like this at home, she could see why the guys liked him so much. His brown eyes held a gleam, and she could imagine him finding all kinds of mischief to get into.

They sat on the sand, listening to the birds and viewing Maui, only a few miles away. It was very pleasant, as they were gradually becoming accustomed to the humidity. Deanna looked over at him, and caught him gazing at her with a look of open adoration on his face. He tried to wipe it from his features, but he failed miserably. It made desire cascade over her. Desire to kiss him, but of course she didn't act on the impulse.

"Want to see me climb a palm tree?" he asked, smiling, his hair blowing in the breeze as he stood up and looked down at her. He was just too gorgeous for his own good. He put all kinds of ideas into her head.

Without waiting for her answer, he began shimmying up a palm tree. And damn if he wasn't thirty feet off the ground within a minute's time. She was astounded. The muscles in his arms and legs bulged with the effort. This was a large palm—close to a hundred feet. She hoped he wasn't going to try to go to the top.

"Stop, Davy! That's high enough," she finally cried when he got to about forty feet up. "You'll fall, and we're out here all alone with no help!" She was amazed at how dexterous he was. He came down just as nimbly as he'd gone up.

When he hit the ground, he asked her if she wanted to try. Why not? She made it all of about four feet before dropping to the ground. "How in the world did you do that? My arms are nowhere near strong enough to get me up any higher than that," she said, feeling very out of shape.

"Men have a lot more upper body strength than women. Still, most women couldn't have made it past a foot off the ground." She didn't know if he was complimenting her or just trying to ease her self-consciousness at her lack of palm tree climbing skills.

"And you also work out a lot," she added. He nodded. "It comes in handy sometimes. Especially when you want to punch a guy out," his smile told her he was only teasing again, but it reminded her of Derrick, and the fact that she hadn't called him, her mother and Cassie as she had planned to do this morning. Edna's visit had thrown her off. Oh hell, she might as well admit it… the thought of their foreplay day had thrown her off more than anything.

"So, you like me?" asked Davy, as if that were a normal thing to ask of someone who couldn't take her eyes off him. She loved the way he said "like" without pronouncing the "k." There were so many words that rolled off his tongue that he didn't give a second thought to that left her enthralled. His accent always intrigued her. At first, all she could do was give him a glazed look, and then he would realize she hadn't understood him. As time went on, she'd been able to figure out most of what he said, but she secretly wanted to ask him to say certain things over and over, just so she could listen.

"I like you very, very much," she admitted, the urge to be honest with him overriding the feeling that she must maintain an element of mystery.

"Well, you're being a little less uptight and stuffy than you usually are," he teased. "I thought we Brits were supposed to be like that, but it seems you and I have switched roles."

"You're being impossible," she laughed.

Shadows in the shape of palm tree fronds danced across his face, causing it to play hide and seek with the sun. She wanted to keep that image in her mind, never let it go.

The kiss came a little later. Davy had thrown himself back onto the smooth sand, his hands behind his head and she'd remained sitting, drinking in the strikingly blue water with her eyes, feeling every kind of serene. This kind of blue was so transparent, magical. It just couldn't be taken for granted.

He'd known she was receptive, approachable, desirous of some amorous attention from him. He'd read it in her body language. The vibrations coming from her had been strong, even though she'd not laid a hand on him, nor even flirted excessively.

He extended his arm up, reaching behind her to tug at her ponytail, effectively pulling her down, and then coaxing her mouth to his. His pulse quickened, he swallowed a moan when their lips came together. Not a pucker-up, movie star kiss, but a lover's kiss from the very start. She was eager. He felt the thrum of it vibrating against him. They hadn't kissed since last night, and after sleeping in bed naked with him all night, her yearnings had become immense.

His intensity kept her entranced, and she couldn't have gotten up and walked away if she'd wanted to.

His breathing became ragged as the kiss went on and on. His soft little gasps made her remember suddenly how she loved listening to how he took a breath between lines of a song when he was singing at a club. Hearing it over the microphone, for some reason, had turned her inside out.

Her guarded reserve was completely gone, and she couldn't say she missed it. It was time she start sending him messages. She wanted him to know how much this foreplay of his was impacting her. She clutched his hair, the silkiness of it tickling her palms. They both wore tank tops with shorts, and their swim suits on underneath so they could swim whenever they felt the urge. Good idea, also, when you happened to rent a kayak on the spur of the moment.

Her breasts felt swollen twice their normal size, her nipples felt tender, in a good kind of way, and she felt the blood throbbing below, from her belly down to where her body was aching the most for him. It was startling in its intensity.

He yanked his lips away. "I need to get ahold of myself," he said breathlessly. "This place is so groovy, and you make it sensual… and…I need to get a grip or I'll get incongruous and completely out of hand if we don't ease up a bit."

How could he think clearly enough to be so articulate at a time like this? She was, to all intents and purposes, ready to give herself to him, surrender completely. That was hard to admit, even to herself. He'd put her into a trance, and she had to struggle to surface from its depths.

Her voice quavering, she managed a "You're right. We'd better start back."

"Wait, our fruit and drinks," he said. "Oh, but we can put them in the fridge back at the cottage. I want to take you out to eat for say, an early dinner?" Early indeed—it was only three o'clock. But by the time they got back, took showers and got ready, it would be closer to four-thirty. And Davy had plans for tonight. He wanted plenty of time after they got back to the cottage to woo her properly. His foreplay was far from over.

"One of those outside restaurants?" asked Deanna. The restaurants she spoke of were casual, yet most offered wonderful sounding cuisine. She'd been wanting to try one.

"Excellent."

He wore jeans, a button up shirt and a black blazer. Perfect for the occasion, and he looked smoking hot. She wore the proverbial "little black dress." She almost hadn't brought it—didn't know if she'd ever have the nerve to wear it. It was fairly low cut, and had a zipper that went entirely down one side. It was very snug fitting, and she added a simple gold chain with a cat's eye pendant. She'd noticed Davy usually wore a cat's eye ring, and she was sure he would notice hers. High heels with straps that criss-crossed to the top of her calves and sexy, black lacey underwear completed her outfit.

Seeing his face when he saw her come out of the bathroom, with her hair in loose curls and that clingy black dress was all the compliment she needed, although he poured it on anyway. But first there was silence as he took her in. Silence that slunk around the room and cloaked them.

_She wasn't afraid to dress sexy when she was with him._ This gave him ever more information on her state of mind. He was liking it…maybe too much. She had to be the sexiest looking woman in Maui.

At the outdoor restaurant, café-style, they had Reuben sandwiches with shaved corned beef, swiss cheese, sauerkraut and thousand island dressing on griddled rye bread. Davy's idea. It had sounded awful to Deanna, but she wanted to be adventurous and open to new ideas, so she followed Davy's lead and let him order it for her as well. It turned out to be delicious.

The white wine they had with it was Tedeschi Maui Blanc, and it was crisp and smooth, with definite hints of pineapple. She was surprised at how refreshing it was. So sweet, it made them pucker up, yet, surprisingly, it wasn't an overpowering, sickening kind of sweet.

Was it really true, he wondered, that if a woman runs her fingertip along the rim of her glass, it's an unconscious sensual gesture? He'd heard or read that somewhere. And that's precisely what she was doing. She also fingered the stem of the glass. He could imagine her touching him just like that. She was going to make him go insane with desire before the day was over. He dared to hope that his all-day foreplay was working.

He was drilling into her soul with his eyes. Every time she looked up, there was his intent gaze. He'd give her that sweet smile, an arsenal of promises behind it—a devilish sexiness. He touched her often, even kissed her across the small table a couple of times, oblivious to anyone around them.

Then he fed her dessert, which was a hot chocolate souffle. At first she was shy about it, but before long, she was also feeding him bites off her own fork. She felt decadent, naughty, almost indecent, doing this in public. But she couldn't resist returning his blatant flirtations.

After the meal, they looked through a few boutiques for souvenirs, discussing maybe going to a club afterward. Deanna stood there trying to look at coffee mugs, tee shirts, key chains and bottle openers displayed before her, but Davy was standing entirely too close. He crowded her space, leaning into her. On purpose.

He felt her tense up just a little bit. "It's okay. Relax into me," he murmured.

_How he loved to do this! Take her space away._

She felt the desire creeping in again. Hot and relentless. She let him practice his sorcery, the heat gathering low in her belly, making her panties feel suddenly moist. He reached across her to touch an item. She had a feeling he wasn't interested in the item; had done it on purpose just to get even closer. His breath puffed oh-so-softly against her neck as he strained to reach.

_Oh God. I'm going to faint. _

She couldn't bear it another second, so she drifted away for a few minutes, and as Davy pretended to check out drinking glasses, she looked sightlessly at candles, trying to appear normal as the wicked want broiled inside her.

They were on opposite sides of the boutique when a man approached Deanna. Maybe he'd seen Davy's antics with her, maybe not, but whatever the reason, he decided to try his luck with her. He came on to her rather brazenly.

He stood too close, right next to her, mimicking Davy's earlier moves, almost touching her, and that was why she thought maybe he'd seen Davy's actions and not realized they were together, and that she might not be opposed to him doing the same thing. Every time she stepped to the side, away from him, he'd close the gap. He was overbearing, suppressing.

"That dress looks really good on you," the man said. There was an unmistakable caress to his words. He had light brown skin, much the same skin tone as Davy, who was always tan. She couldn't tell if the man was a local or a tourist. He was good looking, but she was not interested in the least. She felt not even a stir of desire. There was only one man she had eyes for, and he was on the other side of the room.

She looked around and behind her, almost frantically seeking Davy's familiar form, only to hear his clipped voice a moment later coming from the other side of the man who was pestering her.

"Leave the lady alone. She 'appens to be me girlfriend." Davy's voice had morphed into cold and prickly, his accent more pronounced. He glared up at the guy who was at least half a foot taller than he was, and the guy had only to flick a quick glance at Davy's eyes to take the deadly grimness of his warning seriously. The guy had no right, and he knew it. Served him right, thought Deanna smugly. She loved how Davy could be so very assertive. The man diplomatically apologized and retired to another area of the shop. It hadn't gotten past Deanna that Davy had referred to her as his girlfriend.

Then Davy took her into his arms then and there, and kissed her with passion, staking his claim. This was _so _unlike her. For the second or maybe third time, Deanna forgot anyone else existed except for herself and Davy.

Davy'd had good reason for going all alpha on her again, and she found herself loving it. She also found herself yearning to capitulate to him, completely and totally. Surely, she was going off the deep end. She was no longer in control of her emotions.

He grabbed her hand. "Let's buy the souvenirs you want, and then split."

"We can buy souvenirs tomorrow, or the next day, but I agree, let's split," she assented.

When he stopped her in mid-stride on their way back to the cottage for another deep, passionate kiss, they elicited some whistles and hoots from passersby. It didn't even slow him down. In fact, it seemed to excite him more. He was on a mission. Deanna was past caring what anyone thought. All she wanted was more of this. It was like a perpetual high. All his moves compounded, making her resistance wear very thin.

"It's five o'clock. What would you like to do now?" he asked, his index finger tickling the inside of her palm.

"Oh, maybe go over and hang out with Norman and Edna a little more," she said nonchalantly.

"You're messin' with my 'ead again!" he complained. "Have you forgotten what day it is?"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head.

"Okay, then what day is it?" he mock-demanded, his hands on his hips, looking full of attitude.

"Foreplay day," she said demurely, making his lips tip up in a half-smile. "But… we were supposed to make our calls, and also go shopping for a tent and sleeping bags today, remember? We didn't do any of it."

"Not on foreplay day," he countered. "There's always tomorrow. You're where it's at for me," and that's all that matters right now," he said as his lips inched closer to hers. He teased her with just a short kiss, then let them into the cottage and parked himself on the couch.

"Still want to go out to a club?" he asked, ready to jump up at a moment's notice.

She shook her head. "I'd rather stay here with you."

Those words affected him in a big way. When she sat down beside him, he produced a beautiful flower seemingly from mid-air, and presented it to her. He'd been holding it behind his back, but where had he gotten it, and how long had he had it? It was beautiful, but in a very different kind of way. He explained it was a Heliconia.

"It's unique and special—not an everyday kind of flower. A little off beat, like me, so I thought it fitting," he explained.

She tried to take the flower from him, but he pulled it back abruptly. Her eyes questioning, she gazed at him, confused.

"You don't get nowt for owt," he said.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"You don't get something for nothing. There's a price for this flower."

She raised her eyebrows, and he saw no suspicion—not an ounce of it. And that was just what he'd been looking for, what he'd wanted to see. There was no doubt, no reservation in her eyes.

_He'd finally arrived. He had her trust._

He felt like jumping up and shouting to the Heavens in his joy. If she didn't have unabridged trust in him, she would have curtailed her reaction to him somehow—drawn away from him, tried to get his attention away from her. Instead, she faced him head-on, waiting to see what his price for the flower might be.

_And unafraid._ That was the most thrilling part, the finishing touch. She trusted him not to try to take advantage by putting conditions on anything—not even the act of giving her a flower.

"The price is simply a kiss. And that's only if you want to. I was testing you, and I'm admitting that now. You can have the flower anyhow… kiss or no kiss."

Well, that was just too irresistible. He was thoughtful, honorable, noble. Here was her man. She'd found him, and as of this moment, she knew for sure that he was exactly who he'd claimed he was.

She didn't remember falling into his arms, and she also didn't remember him stepping forward and drawing her in. It must have been mutual. His skin was smooth under her touch, and he twitched slightly when her hand landed on his chest, right below where he'd undone the top button since they'd left the restaurant. He always unfastened the top button when he could. To relax and breathe easier, she reasoned. She liked his little habits, his little quirks because they made him all the more dear to her.

Davy was experiencing a new Deanna. She looked just like the old one, but there were new elements present now that had been missing before. Trust, confidence, and faith in him. He sensed it all. She did not fear him—something he'd been working for ever since he'd first seen her in the library. He'd never worked this hard at something for any girl or woman.

He kissed her deeply, and she also felt change in him. _She knew that he knew._ Just in the way he handled her told her he was assured now that she wanted him in every way. The door was wide open. He could step right in.

But first… he wanted to enjoy her. He kissed her for an infinity, until they were both staggered, and then he led her into the bedroom and kissed her some more… and a little more. At last they sat on the bed, and he was lost in her smoky eyes. Her thick eyelashes seemed to be batting at him. That quickened his heartbeat, made him feel fevered. His feelings were frightening him. He'd told himself he was lost in lust, but the more he thought about it, the more he was afraid he might be lost in love instead. He hadn't been in love before, and he hadn't ever felt this way either. So he couldn't attest to, in fact, being in love. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, but he also knew he'd have to have a talk with himself about this sooner or later.

He did know he felt revitalized, tantalized, almost carefree in her presence. Suddenly, he didn't want to operate with quite as much caution.

She saw the flicker of a twinkle in his eyes and wondered if he were thinking what she was… that life was good, and they might be on the road to something that only happens once in a while. And only to selected people. Blessed people.

"You're a slayer of dragons," she said, whispering it like a feather.

"For you, yes." He'd caught her meaning. She'd been referring to the guy who had flirted with her in such a flagrant fashion in the boutique, and how Davy had handled it. He'd been proud of himself for making that proclamation about her being his girlfriend, and he hoped she didn't mind. Evidently, she didn't.

"He was a rather dodgy bloke, wasn't he?"

"He was rather pushy, if that's what you mean." She wasn't altogether sure what "dodgy" meant.

She was too busy thinking about how hooked she was on him to worry much about the meaning of his British expression. Bits and pieces of musings came to her mind. One was that she felt so high on him and life right now that she wanted to believe no one could take him away from her. They'd have a hell of a time if they tried. They'd have to wrench her out of his arms, kicking and screaming.

"Tell me about your writing," he said, his head cocked slightly to one side as he did when truly fascinated about something.

That was a broad question, but her answer came directly from her heart. "It's my passion," she said simply. "I live through my characters when I'm writing. I feel what they feel, I understand their goals, their aspirations. And most of all, I feel their emotions."

"Are you and I making our own story?"

He still bedazzled her with his penchant for asking questions that were often beyond her scope of illuminating properly. His queries were unsettling in a way because she wasn't sure if he were searching for absolute truths, or just picking her brain.

"I hope so," was what she came up with, was accurate enough, and what she was ultimately happy with.

"Good, because I was hoping I'd get an answer like that."

_There was that dropped "k" again!_ Why did that always get her motor roaring? As if it wasn't already…

His kiss to her neck was just a wisp. Desire ribboned and whipped around the two of them. If today was his idea of foreplay, she wouldn't argue if he offered her a hearty dose of it every day. It had exceeded all her expectations. She loved its teasing quality, the way he was subtle, and then… not so subtle, in turns. Kissing her passionately in front of anyone who happened by made her feel like she really mattered to him.

_She was his girlfriend._ That sure sounded good.

"I like your cat's eye," he said, fingering the pendant gently. "You have good taste in stones."

"I wore it because you wear one," she said.

"Really? So it wasn't a coincidence? That's far out."

"Well, I also love them too. They're not as common as a lot of other stones."

Deanna found herself operating as if on automatic pilot. She laid down on the bed, shocking herself at how direct she was being, and pulled at his sleeve to urge him down.

Davy was floored. He was also delighted, thrilled. His hand went to her waist; the thin material of her dress was stretched tight on her skin, and it almost felt as if she wore nothing at all. His hand skimmed up and down her side, and she didn't even flinch.

He kissed her long and slow and thorough. She was writhing in his arms in record time. She kept trying to pull him closer, and he instinctively knew what that meant. Desire zipped through him.

Coming up for air, he said, "How about if I lower this a bit?" as he fiddled with the zipper on the side of her dress. His smile was half serious and half teasing, just in case he needed to swing more one way than the other. She giggled, her hands on his shoulders, no tension. So he eased the zipper down an inch, watching her eyes closely.

The zipper was on the right side of her dress, and he knew she was shy, so he suggested she lay on her left side, and he slipped in behind her. Now the zipper was on top, and all he had to do was keep inching it down… It would be easier on her too, since her back was to him, and he wouldn't be staring directly down at her body. He wanted her to feel as comfortable as he possibly could.

He got up, turned off the light, and resumed his position behind her. She seemed amenable. All that kissing had her fired up, her eyes glassy. He adjusted the bathroom door the way it had been the night before, and told her, gently, that he was undressing. She got under the sheet, without a word of protest.

When he was naked, he slid under the sheet with her, and she snuggled her body back against his.

Oh, that butt of hers! So full, soft, yet firm. "You like me to cuddle you this way?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," she said, sounding like she was seriously drugged. He allowed his body to mold to hers, and he was aware she would feel his erection through that thin, tight dress. He gave her plenty of warning before lowering her zipper again by caressing her arm, then her neck. He eased it down another inch. It didn't matter how long it took to get it down all the way. He had to keep telling himself to keep in mind that she did not see sex as something to be enjoyed, but rather, dreaded. It took all he had in him to do everything in slow motion.

_Slow motion._

Deanna pushed herself back deeper into his body and drew her head back as his lips caressed the side of her neck, his teeth nibbling now and then, tongue touching her flesh. She felt her dress loosen every time he eased the zipper down more. He didn't try to be sneaky about it. He didn't try to mute the sound of the zipper, or disguise what he was doing. Everything was so gradual and natural feeling that she found herself melting into it instead of stiffening.

The zipper finally got to the spot to where the front of her dress fell forward, over her chest and to the bed. Her bra was now exposed. She knew that would happen sooner or later. His hand touched the side of her breast that was nearest him, and she groaned as his mouth found her neck again. That was when he cupped her breast through her bra as tenderly as if it were a kitten.

His erection surged against her back. He grimaced to himself, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it. She remained motionless, breathing deeply. From nervousness or excitement, he didn't know. He couldn't imagine all the emotions she must have flooding over her right now.

Davy reached to the clasp on the front of her bra and released it. Her bare breast felt as if it were the first breast he'd ever touched, although that was far from the case. It was the first time he'd touched_ her_ breast, and that was all that was of significance. It was so new to him, so fresh, and he could hardly believe his good fortune.

He began to ever-so-tenderly knead her breast, causing her to sigh and nestle back into him even more than previously. Her nipple grew rapidly under his hand, and he ached to grasp it with his fingers. His movements were slow and measured as he sought to do just that. He was unhurried and affectionate, continuing to kiss her neck until he grasped her nipple and rolled it between his fingers. He knew this would bring a reaction, and it did, but it was a little more than he'd bargained for.

Deanna gasped, sighed and moaned all in one breath, his name on her lips as her chest pushed out slightly, seeking more contact with his fingers. Davy felt like jumping up and beating his chest in victory, but that wouldn't necessarily go over well. He smiled at his foolish notion. Her back was to him, so she couldn't see him smile. She might take it the wrong way—maybe as if he'd made a conquest or something, and that wasn't really how he felt. He simply felt deep satisfaction knowing he was making her feel good, and that was quite an accomplishment, considering the loser guys who had invaded her.

Her skin was warm, silky and utterly touchable. He continued a steady stream of kissing her neck, stroking her arm nearest him, and, now, palming her nipple and breast. She responded to it all.

One of her feet brushed against his lower leg. Fuzzy.

"You wear socks to bed?" he asked in a sultry voice, because it was impossible to talk normally when he was this aroused.

"Yes…I always wear fuzzy, warm socks, even in the heat of summer," she said in a breathless voice, as if she were talking about something lusty instead of matter-of-fact.

They were having a sexy conversation—about socks. If he hadn't been so terribly turned on, he would have giggled at the pure idiocy of it.

With his body snuggled up so close behind her, Deanna felt the kind of desire she hadn't thought existed in the real world—only in her mind. His fingers on her nipple caused a sharp jolt of desire that was very nearly unbearable. It made her want to do crazy things. Things like turn around and kiss him with complete abandon, suck his tongue into her mouth, feel his erection against her bare belly… and she didn't know what else. Anything else was beyond dubious, beyond her conscious reach.

Davy leaned over her body then and licked the side of her breast. Just a quick, innocuous miniature swipe of his tongue, and it almost put her through the ceiling. She said nothing; just laid there and trembled.

"You want me to make you feel good?" he asked, and his voice in itself caressed. She was afraid to answer. She didn't know what he was asking for.

Bravely, he forged ahead, taking her silence as permission. He leaned a little farther and licked her nipple, making her jerk, then he took it into his mouth, graduating incrementally from licking to sucking. She let go of an "Oh!" as the feeling, whatever it was, got stronger and stronger. She did know the feeling was desire, but it was beyond anything she'd had any idea was even possible for her. He continued, trying to quiet his own trembling as he relished the feeling of her full nipple in his mouth, on his tongue.

The strength of this feeling was clutching at her, and she squirmed, not in an effort to escape; but because she couldn't help herself.

Davy felt his pre-come oozing against her backside. She had to feel the wetness—no way could she _not _feel it. Just knowing she felt it made him want to thrust, but he knew that would be a fatal mistake—he had to continue to go slowly with her.

Wonder, uncertainty, doubt, arousal hit her from all sides. One of the few emotions _not _present was fear. It astonished her that she had so much faith in him, that he would do as he'd said he would. He'd said he didn't expect a thing from her, so that was what she operated on, concentrated on. Just knowing it gave her consolation, and freedom to respond.

His titillated moans vibrated to her core. His hands smoothed up and down her belly as his mouth still worked feverishly at her breast. He knew this was giving her enormous pleasure, so he slipped his other hand beneath her and rolled her other nipple as he sucked the other. She arched her back, enjoying every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips, every manipulation of his fingers.

He continued to fondle her breasts, and all the sensations were pushing her to the boiling point. Now she was starting to understand what he meant by "ready." Surely it wouldn't hurt as much right now, when she was nearly crazed with need for him.

That was when his uppermost hand dipped lower. Her gasp was as loud as a gunshot in the silent room. Except for the waves outside the window, it was the only sound. He paused, yet she moved her hips slightly, in such a way that he knew she wanted him to continue.

When he found her wetness, he was, frankly, stunned. She was soaking, even coating his entire hand, not just his fingers. Overjoyed, he sought out her folds and slipped his finger back and forth over them. By now Deanna was flopping around like a fish, but not so much as to dislodge his hand. Through the folds he explored, opening them easily. They practically blossomed for him. There was so much lubrication that this was going to go easy for her. For this he was eternally grateful. It _had_ to be good for her, or it would do nothing for him, regardless of how turned on he was. This was all about her, and letting her discover what kind of delight she'd missed out on.

"It feels out of the realm of possibility," she breathed. He smiled.

"It'll get better."

His finger slipped easily just inside. She tensed, but seemed to relax more rapidly now every time he did something new. But this was more invasive, and he had to tread carefully. His fingers slick, he found her clit and touched it ever so tenderly. Deanna took an astoundingly deep breath, but she didn't fight the feeling. If it were easier for her to have her back to him, then he wouldn't protest. All that he wanted, at this point, was to see some willingness, and there was certainly that.

Stimulating her clit and sliding his fingers deeper inside, it didn't take much convincing that she could just let him lead her to some blissful sensuality. When she kept pushing her butt up against him in her pleasure, he was close to bursting.

"I'm going to slide in," he said, not knowing or even daring to imagine what she might say or do.

She just laid there. His aching cock was jerking and having a fit, wanting into that warm, slippery Heaven that it knew was only inches away. So he eased the head against her. She became rigid immediately.

"Wait," she said. He froze at her command.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I just want you to go slow. Please, please... go slow."

"Of course Deanna. You should know me better by now." And she did. She knew he wouldn't become overbearing or rough. Yet, that little bit of fear remained… that tiny kernel of uncertainty.

But when he slid himself in, he went so slowly that she was soon crying out for him to fill her. He took his time, just to be certain he didn't hurt her. When he was finally all the way in, down to the very root of his cock, she sighed, he felt the walls around him clench, and it was like a proverbial welcome mat.

She was so tight—he couldn't imagine someone not respecting that, and being gentle. At least until she was ready for more…He was totally encompassed by the warmth he was sleeved into. Involuntarily, his hips thrust forward slightly, before he could stop himself. She gasped, and he feared she'd flip out and call a stop to it, but instead, she pushed back against him, and then he knew without a doubt that it felt as good to her as it did to him.

He was so wound up tight, so full of desire that he knew he'd come soon. He reached around her and massaged her clit as he pumped in and out of her. She let her head fall back so their faces could be close, and he kissed her cheek because he couldn't reach her lips. He rubbed her faster as his climax started to build. It was going to go entirely too fast this time, but he'd fix that—he'd make it up to her plenty of times in the future. Faster they moved together, until he heard her breathing change, and her legs start to stiffen. He knew then that she was close. He was too.

"Davy, Davy!" she cried out, and in the next instant, the wetness just flowed out of her and she began to thrash again, making all manner of noises. They didn't come at exactly the same time, but it was close enough. When she was halfway through her orgasm, he couldn't hold back any longer, and he jetted into her along with a soft yell of release.

They wrung every last bit out of that orgasm, continuing to rock together for a good minute or two afterward, then lay there still and drained. When he leaned over her shoulder and caught her smiling, he cracked a smile himself. She had no idea… this was only the beginning…


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing Davy felt when he opened his eyes was the steady pull of affection, pulsating and heady, still flooding him from last night. The closeness the night had brought was on was a whole different level from what he'd been used to with anyone. He prompted himself that Deanna needed time to get accustomed to him on this new, much more intimate plane, both physically and emotionally. He mustn't assume too much, too soon.

He smiled when recalling how she had practically wound her body around his. Like a she-snake. And then happily remained like that.

"I have to nip to the loo," he'd said sometime during the dark hours. He hadn't even bothered glancing at the clock. Time didn't matter. Time could take a flying fuck. Nothing much mattered to him now than the two of them, oh, and the suspension of time. Unclamping her from his body had been an effort. At last, she had let him let him go with a frustrated sigh of protest. When he'd come back, she had meshed their bodies together again the instant he was beside her. At some point she'd gotten out of her dress and underwear, but that part was fuzzy for him. Maybe she'd spiked his drink, and the thought made him smile to himself, finding it hard to imagine her doing such a dirty deed. He had to face it—he was drunk on _her,_ not some substance.

Shortly after the sun came up, she sensed he was awake. She wanted to talk about last night, but didn't know how to raise the subject. After cuddling for a while, they'd both been so tired from their adventure filled day that they'd dozed off last night without much warning, like candles that had been snuffed out.

"I had no idea . . ." she finally found the courage to say.

"I know," he said, aware of what she spoke of. "But here's even better news. It gets better, much better. That was only the tip of the iceberg."

She was spellbound by the thought of something feeling even _better _than last night. Last night had opened her eyes to a new reality. One that existed outside her daydreams and the stories she wrote. It seemed it really _could _be like that. Not a pipe dream after all.

"And don't think yesterday was the only foreplay day, because from now on, _every _day is foreplay day," he declared. She liked his confidence, which she could see had climbed considerably since last night. She realized with a start that she hadn't been the only one who'd needed confidence. She'd been concentrating so much on her own feelings that she'd just assumed he could fend for himself. But she now saw the relief written all over his face and it occurred to her that he had been leery of rejection. She should have known—it was just that he always exuded such self-possession. Yes, she'd been rather self-absorbed.

"Even though we'll make our calls, get the camping gear and souvenirs today, I'll still shower you with foreplay," he said softly, catching a curl at her temple and twirling it around his finger.

They held each other, and her fingertips skated down his back, making him gasp for air.

"Careful Deanna . . . you might . . . get me too worked up to even leave the bed."

They showered separately, Davy feeling Deanna needed to go into this more gradually than having everything thrown at her at once. When he stepped out of the shower, she crooned to him from across the room, still in the bed.

"Come here, sweet butt."

This brought him up short. He looked at her inquiringly, then shrugged. "Well, at least you didn't call me a candy ass."

Deanna laughed as he pounced on her.

"Wait, I have to take a shower too!" and she was gone. Had slipped right out of his grasp. Damn.

"Thanks for using up all the hot water," she mock whined as she exited the bathroom. He'd watched her go in there. She'd walked quickly, her back to him, of course, but he'd still supremely enjoyed the outline of her body and wished she'd turned around. She hadn't put her robe on, and that intrigued him.

She had nothing but a towel around her now. He walked up to her, still naked himself, and she squeaked when he stepped on her foot.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm not usually that clumsy."

"It's okay. It helped to wake me up," she said.

"It wasn't very romantic though," and he looked like a little boy who was disappointed in himself.

She reflected on how she had been naked when she'd gone to the bathroom to take her shower. And even though her back had been to him, it was still a giant step for her. She was starting to lose her self-consciousness around him.

Looking down… because she couldn't help it, she let her eyes dwell on his body. He didn't flinch, intending to let her have her fill of gazing at him. It would be therapeutic. She snapped to a moment later, realizing how she'd been staring, and now flustered as well as coming to the realization that she couldn't fight that strange feeling that was coming over her again.

Lust closed in on her, pooling down low in her belly. There was no hiding from it. It was that persistent.

"My uterus," she thought to herself, not realizing she'd said it aloud.

"Your uterus?" he asked, concern immediately showing in his expression.

"It's throbbing," she said.

"Painful throbbing?"

"No . . . a nice throb," and boy, was that an understatement!

The tension in him eased. "Ah . . ." he said. "Then that's a good thing."

"I haven't felt it before. Well, I did when I would fantasize, but never when I was with a guy."

He looked jolted. "Really?" That statement was hard for him to believe.

"But I feel it with you—just about every time I look at you."

He felt kind of like he was king of the mountain right about then. It was easily the best compliment he'd ever had.

"Thank you . . ." he stuttered just a little, something that was rare for Davy. "I hope I can continue having that effect."

"I doubt it'll stop now. I've tried everything to make it go away."

"Oh! Don't do that!" he plead. "You _want_ to feel that way about me . . . don't you?"

"You're embarrassing me again," she said, nudging her body right up against his.

A vixen, she was. A good kind of vixen. An innocent vixen, and she didn't even know it. Foxy and clever, tempting him. He marveled how it came so naturally to her. He loved every second of it.

Dragging her back to bed was foremost in his mind, but he forced himself to act responsible so she'd know, more than anything else, that he didn't want her just for sex. She'd been used enough, and although he would never use her, he was, after all, a man, and there was just so much he could endure without breaking.

His control dangling by a thread, he backed off, preparing to get dressed. Deanna, instead, was slipping under the sheets again.

"Please come here, candy ass," she said as smoothly as if that were really his name. He smiled at her winsome statement. And he found he couldn't muster the strength to refuse her. So, at the risk of seeming to come on too strong, he slipped under the sheet also. She'd asked, and he'd responded.

"I noticed that when you take your clothes off, you don't have any underwear on," she said unexpectedly, leaving him at loose ends.

"Oh well, I got that from Peter." There he went again, mentioning Peter, and this time it sounded weird, even to his own ears. "I mean, he doesn't wear it, and I just kind of picked up on the habit."

Still sounded like a strange thing to say about a roommate. Why would you pick up on your roommate's eccentricity of wearing no underwear? He hadn't really dissected the "why" of it. He wondered what she would make of it.

She just laughed. "You two are close, like brothers," she said.

_Well, not exactly like brothers,_ he thought. There was an atypical, unaccountable current between himself and Peter that he still hadn't figured out yet.

He put his arms around her waist, pulling her up to his chest, not really certain of what she wanted. Did she just want to cuddle a little more before getting out of bed or . . . did she want more? His fingers fluttered like butterfly wings on her back, and her back caved inward, causing her breasts to jut forward, into his chest.

Damn, this was going to be awkward. He didn't know what to do, or worse, what she might be expecting. The one thing he didn't want to do was the_ wrong_ thing. Again, he was shocked at her inexperience. She was behaving flirtatiously, yet not being obvious enough for him to detect any crystal clear signs. Nearly every one of the girls in his past had made their desire unmistakable. Asking her what she wanted point blank was too brassy, yet not picking up on her cues put him in danger of missing the boat, so to speak.

For God's sake, he wasn't a clumsy, bumbling young boy in bed with a girl for the first time! Why did he even have to think about it? Since when did he become so inelegant with girls?

_Just go with the flow and see where it leads, _his inner voice told him sternly._  
_

She was a challenge unlike any other. All the things he wanted to do to her came to mind, and that only strained that damn threadbare string his control hung by.

He was hard, but she had to be well acquainted with that by now, because he'd been that way for most of the night. No point in dwelling on that—she could certainly put two and two together and knew that it was a fact of life. She was in her twenties, for Christ's sake! And she _wasn't_ a virgin. He was enlightened enough to catch the fine ghosts of the details of other girls' desires, so why not her? Because he wasn't used to Deanna's kind of subtlety, and he was nervous as hell, that was why. He tried to tamp down his more lusty thoughts. The fact remained that the other girls hadn't mattered. She did. It had to be the source of his sadly discombobulated state.

"You like to tease, don't you?" she asked, pulling back to look into his eyes, breaking his hold around her waist. Man, you had to be on top of things, because some of her questions could deliver a blow to your gut before you were braced for them.

"As in foreplay tease? Yes, I love it."

_Was he well practiced in the art of foreplay? No doubt he was._ But such disturbing thoughts were a reminder she could do without. This trip was for fun, romance, adventure, and wherever else it took them. Leaving their other world behind—including the girls. That was part of the beauty of it—not knowing what tomorrow, or the next moment, might bring.

Davy decided to trace lazy patterns on her hip and back, causing her to arch her back again, and then he had an excuse to slip his arms around her couldn't resist, anyway. He thought he'd been in love quite a few times; in fact, just about everyone had known every time it happened because of the obvious stars in his eyes, but, compared to this, he now saw that he'd only been in lust. Big difference. But . . . he wasn't sure if he could love someone in the "forever" sense. Shit, he wasn't sure he knew _how _to be in love, period.

They had a lot in common. They both liked pop songs with and without fluff, and Davy was a good ballad singer, which was also right up her alley. They both dug rock 'n roll. They had similar ideals and seemingly the same sense of humor. Wasn't that a good starting point toward falling in love?

All he knew was, it felt as if his heart was in a vice, being squeezed steadily. Is this what bittersweet love was all about? He'd heard the term in song lyrics. Actually, the kind of lyrics Mike wrote. He wanted only the sweet though—he'd gladly leave the bitter behind.

"So, this won't just be a vacation, and then we both go our own ways?" Another one of Davy's questions that extinguished her composure. Damn him!

"Not for me," she said softly, afraid he might laugh or something, and she'd feel dumb. Sometimes guys could be cruel that way. They could be inmature and say things just to shake girls up. Guys were lousy at relating to girls. Davy had never done that to her, but she recalled much too well the cruel methods guys had used to hurt her, maybe even unknowingly, yet upheaving her just the same. Leaving her feeling like a fool, cold and hollow, and then they'd wonder why she'd no longer answer their calls. A lot of other girls could take it, giving as good as they got, but she was so damn sensitive. Forget the white picket fence dreams—these guys hadn't even known how to show affection the way Davy did. They were common ignoramuses. Davy was all class.

"Souvenirs, camping gear, making calls. I'd much rather stay in bed with you all day. To cuddle and talk," he added briskly.

"_Just _cuddle and talk?" she sounded like a temptress. She knew she shouldn't be encouraging him to dwell on sex, although he never did. Out loud, anyway. What haunted her was those pesky past guys that had put a dirty stain on the idea of intimacy. Davy was not one of those guys, she stringently reminded herself.

He wasn't going to blow it now. Damned if he'd touch her in an intimate way unless she practically screamed from the rooftops that she wanted him. He'd gotten this far, and it hadn't been easy. He hoped last night hadn't been a fluke.

"Okay, let's go get souvenirs, camping gear and make our calls," she repeated what he'd so reluctantly said. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and chill out."

Well, that sounded enticing, even though Davy seriously balked at the idea of getting out of bed.

They ended up getting Derrick a keychain with a Chevy emblem on it since he was a die-hard Chevy lover, Cassie a coffee mug that said "Hawaii," with blue water, flowers and palm trees, Deanna's mother a necklace with Hawaiian seashells, and Davy got each of the guys chocolate covered macadamia nuts. He also grabbed a small crystal fish for Peter on the spur of the moment, because Peter was a Pisces. Davy wondered why he felt a strange sliver of guilt about it. It perplexed him.

"We're definitely going to have to buy another suitcase or two now!" said Deanna as they finished paying and leaving the store.

It was on to another store to get what they would need to camp minimalist style for a few days. A two person tent, sleeping bags, cooking gear, utensils, flashlights, paper plates, plastic utensils and cups and a few other miscellaneous items. They'd also take personal items such as Deanna's make-up, toothpaste, combs, soap, and shampoo. That would be about it. In Deanna's eyes, this was really roughing it. Still, she couldn't wait to be alone with Davy on an island all by themselves, in a tent. She thought of all the romantic things they could do.

But she wasn't foolish enough to think it would be all roses either. It would be a far cry from the cottage and the hotel room they'd had, with soft beds and a bathroom and shower. But . . . Deanna didn't mind, not one bit. It might be so miserable as to not be romantic, although she couldn't imagine that, but even if that should prove to be the case, she had to admit, she'd follow Davy anywhere. It was a little disconcerting though, thinking they'd probably be the only ones on the island of Molakai. If anything were to happen, there would be no way to get help.

By the time they got everything on Davy's checklist, they were loaded down and barely able to get it all in the jeep. Davy asked around, looking for recommendations on someone reliable who could take them to Molakai, and dependable enough to come check on them every couple of days, depending on how long they stayed, to be sure they had everything they needed, and to bring them extra supplies if needed. One name kept popping up more often than any other. Kapena. They heard it at least seven or eight times. Davy laughed when he read what the name meant—captain. Made sense. The guy apparently had a good sized kayak that could carry all their camping equipment. They were assured by locals Kapena would be dependable, as transporting people around the islands was his livelihood.

Finally, they headed for a phone to make their calls. Deanna's mother was not far from distraught, as she hadn't heard from Deanna yesterday as she'd expected to. Deanna explained again, for at least the third time that they might not always call on the day they said they would, depending on the circumstances, but that they would try their best. Cassie was her usual bright, energetic self, predictably inquiring about Davy. Deanna couldn't tell her they'd "done the deed," but dropped enough hints so that Cassie could figure it out for herself, considering Davy was nearby. Cassie even sounded a little envious. Derrick didn't sound much different from the last time she'd called him, expect for being a bit more on the apathetic side. She knew that he wanted to ask her about her relationship with Davy, but was afraid of hearing the answer.

Davy called the guys, and he noted the familiar sounds in the background: The TV, Micky being boisterous, Mike telling him to cool it. The sounds of the Pad. The sounds of home. Peter had trouble controlling the timbre of his voice at the end of the conversation. That tug at Davy's heart felt the same as the first time he'd talked to Peter since they'd been gone. That little bit of homesickness gave Davy a curious nudge, but it wasn't enough to make him want to return to Malibu yet.

Once the call was wrapped up, Davy told Deanna that Peter had an attachment to him that he didn't quite understand. Peter had been fighting tears on the phone, and Davy was open with Deanna about that too. The only thing he didn't divulge was his own attachment to Peter. He couldn't quite do that without sounding, well, _queer. _Davy was pretty sure no one would understand what he and Peter felt for each other. People would just assume the worst. Not that he thought Deanna would, but he was pretty sure that at this point in their relationship, she likely wouldn't understand.

"Peter's sweet," she said. "I can see him getting emotional about you being gone." Her words comforted him, made him feel a little less weird about the whole thing.

* * *

"Keep your eye on the jeep," said Davy when they went to a café for lunch. All the souvenirs and camping gear was in it.

"Why?" asked Deanna.

"It'll get nicked."

"What does that mean?"

"It might get stolen. Things get stolen a lot in Hawaii. I guess a lot of people figure the tourists will get careless, and they wait to prey on stuff left unattended. Not unlike the mainland, really."

They did more sight-seeing that day, lots of discreet and not-so-discreet hugs and caresses passing between them, sweet hand-holding and whispers that were no louder than the soft, warm Hawaiian breezes on their cheeks. Deanna absorbed it- soaked it all in.

When they got back to the cottage, eager to be alone, and expecting silence, they instead heard music, and found all the cottage renters outside Edna and Norman's cottage; all older folk, dancing and eating some kind of delicious morsels Edna had made. No way could they hope to slip into their own cottage unnoticed because they were spotted right away. Edna and Norman announced them to the other renters, and there was much fuss made over them. After putting their shopping stash inside their cottage, Davy and Deanna looked at each other and sighed with helpless smiles, then went over to party with some very spry seniors- Edna and Norman and friends.

_He was crowding _her_ again. Skittering nimble fingers up and down her spine, making her want to crawl out of her skin and into his._

Standing and talking, eating hor d'oeuvresof bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple and crab bouchees, Deanna looked at the table Edna had set out with skewers of beef teriyaki and and pork and mango, rumaki, and coconut scallop Ceviche. It must have taken her all day to make them. There were also cocktail ingredients and glasses set out for the guests to make their own drinks. There were tiki torches lined around the cottage yard. It was festive and very appealing, but they had been looking forward to being isolated together. Deanna and Davy had had no idea the older couple had even been planning a party that night, but didn't want to hurt their feelings by not staying for a while.

Davy found himself being twirled around the yard by older women who couldn't stop exclaiming at how cute he was, pinching his cheek for emphasis, and Deanna only put up a half-hearted battle to stave off all the older men who fought over who would get to dance with her next. Why, she wondered, did they seem to be the only younger renters in these cottages?

She'd catch Davy's eye now and then as he floated by with a comical screwed up look on his face as if begging her to help him. She had to laugh. She knew he was only joking around, and was really enjoying himself as much as Deanna was. His funny expressions sent a ghost shiver of desire down to her bones, making her want to drag him back to their cottage. Now that they'd made love, she was curious by what he'd meant when he'd said there was more . . . that what they'd had last night was only the tip of the iceberg. She was enraptured just by the thought of it.

When at last Davy was able to snatch a dance from Deanna, he danced as the older people did, even to the lively songs. Not separately, but with his hand in hers, and his other hand on her waist, and her other hand on his shoulder. It was so quaint, so charming, and Deanna's blood ran warm as it flowed through her as smoothly as Davy maneuvered her with an ease that made her feel almost like Cinderella. "ONE two three four, ONE two three four," Davy said softly to jog her memory, as she was a little rusty at this kind of dancing. But they had to do it this way, after all, because the older people might be quite ill at ease watching them dance like typical young people of the sixties. Besides, the music was hardly conducive to it.

The more they looked at each other, from mere inches away, the more the chemistry climbed until Davy thought he might implode.

"When do you want to go to Molakai?" he whispered into her ear as they enjoyed a slow song, barely moving in time to the music, the older people watching as if entranced, probably remembering their own youth, and what young love had been like.

"Keep whispering in my ear like that, and I'll follow you anywhere," she teased.

"Really? Soon then? Maybe even tomorrow?" His eyes, in the twilight that was fading fast to dark, gleamed brilliantly, intently interested in her state of mind.

"Yes. I'd love us being on an island all by ourselves," she said. He knew then that she couldn't possibly be afraid of making love with him again.

_If you wanted to even call what happened last night making love. _He felt a little remorseful because he would have liked the first time to have been really special for hadn't been able to make it as sensual as his fantasies had been. But then again, she hadn't been completely ready mentally. He'd have to bide his time, no matter how much fuss his body put up. This couldn't be pushed.

Puffs of air that were short pants escaped her lips, but she couldn't stop them. They had just entered their cottage, having had all kinds of difficulties getting away from the crowd of cottage renters who apparently weren't thinking of ending the party anytime soon.

"Let 'em go," Norman had ultimately said with a smile in his voice. "Mercy, they're newlyweds!"

"Good God, it's midnight!" Davy exclaimed, even though he'd had a pretty accurate idea of what time it was.

He approached her slowly and diligently, and he felt her breath catching as they fell into a mutual hug. He hoped the sound of his own breath hitching would not be as noticeable to her because of her own plight. He was painstaking in his solemnity. She couldn't be allowed to think he was taking this lightly. As far as she went, his feelings were anything but frivolous.

"Are you okay?" he said, his lips close to hers, playing at being clueless, even though he could read some of what her mannerisms were telling him. He hoped beyond hope that she was as overcome with passion as he was, and not frightened or feeling swamped in a bad way.

His lips soughthers, desperately needing her to let go and relax in his embrace. She fisted her hands into his hair. "Oh God, Davy."

Feverishly, they kissed.

"I feel funny—my uterus," she said the moment their lips parted.

"You uterus is speaking to you again?" He had to be careful. She could so easily take offense. Instead, she took it as the mild joke it was intended as, and giggled, nervousness making it sound on the edgy side.

"Yes . . . it's at it again," she admitted bashfully.

He wished she knew how to abandon herself. He doubted she had ever completely relinquished all control just for the sake of lust or . . . . love. And allowed the trust that went along with it. He wanted to take her to that place.

The rush was accumulating and settling in his groin, and Davy, after having had her once, found it hard to convince his body that it had to be patient, discreet and respectful. He remembered too well the sensations of being buried deep within her, and his cock was being unruly in its demands. Maybe if he could take some of the pressure off . . . retire to the bathroom for a few minutes, he'd be more civilized when he returned. He was young—it would only take the edge off. His thoughts volleyed back and forth. Being charming and gracious were too complicated for him right now. Just remembering his own name was a challenge.

She never knew she could be so hot for a guy. These marvelous, near-explosive feelings trickling down her spine were captivating. Her mind wandered back to when Davy had asserted himself with the guy who had flirted with her. The guy who had been half a foot taller. That take charge manner, the confidence, the almost too sure of himself attitude combined with the gentleman he was made Davy sexy as hell to her. She could hardly stand it, didn't know what to do with the passion.

Deanna had once again managed to leave a safe distance between them, but Davy boldly crossed it and their embrace was smoking hot. How did he keep getting into her personal space so easily? Slashing right through her defenses without being offensive? His brown eyes locked with her silver ones, and she couldn't possibly think straight with him so close, his lips edging closer again.

Her mouth felt parched, so she ran her tongue over her lips to moisten them. Davy's gaze flicked down and watched the path of her tongue, then flicked back up to her eyes.

"Trust me," he lowered his mouth to her ear. "Please don't be nervous. Tension puts you in the ground," he added on an impulse. Rather morbid sounding, but it was one of Peter's truths that Davy happened to recollect at the moment.

"What?" she said, barely conscious of what they were talking about, so weak was she from desire.

"One of Peter's sayings. Stress only breaks you down and makes you vulnerable to the quandaries in life, and those are Peter's words verbatim," he smiled that cocky half-smile of his that only made her fragile condition worse.

The first touch of their lips was always exhilarating. And the second, and the third. They kissed, over and over, and she melted like butter. "Trust me," he kept whispering between long drinks of her. "Trust me . . . trust me."

The spicy, salty smell of the sea flowed in through the bedroom window, one of her very favorite smells. It rated right up there with the memory of her mother's lipstick. Their shadows on the walls as they danced to a particularly romantic number Edna and Norman were playing outside. It was all intoxicating. Funny, they didn't even need music. Music was just an enhancement. The flow and sway of their bodies, Deanna kicking off her shoes, this time circling her arms around his neck, his arms around her waist, clasping her tightly to him. They could dance this way now, because they were all alone. Intimate, close and slow.

"Are you going to tear me in half or are you going to make me whole?" he asked. His tone was acute, intense, his voice whisper-soft.

Her lungs expanded as she breathed his essence in deeply. "I'd love to make you whole," she said. His sigh was one of earnest, heartfelt pleasure. They were admitting to a whole lot more than these mere words could impart. They both knew it, and they both savored it.

He grazed his knuckles against her cheek. She turned her head to kiss those knuckles when they neared her lips. She witnessed the chill go right through him, and it heightened her desire to where she could hardly bear it.

"So Peter's taking your absence hard?" she asked, still fighting her desire, and not really knowing why. Davy felt like shaking himself like a dog. _Where had this come from?_ They'd been kissing, then slow dancing, and then Deanna had brought Peter up. She did seem to just blurt things out indiscriminately when she was ill at ease. So this was probably meant as a diversion so she wouldn't have to think about what might come next.

"Uh, yeah. He follows me around at the Pad, always wants to hang out with me. So I imagine it's not easy for him."

"It's just something to think about, but . . . maybe you could ask him to join us on our last three or four days here," she said. "Only if you wanted to, of course. You did mention he could afford it. I bet he'd really love it."

Davy recoiled briefly from within. No way was he going to ask Peter to come. He wanted every second of his time alone with her on this vacation. But he just nodded and said it was an idea he'd keep in mind. She was just being nice, because she was such a nice person. But he'd fought hard for this, and forfeiting any of his time alone with Deanna was just not going to happen.

All this attempted diverting of his attention to other things made him want to just pounce on her. He had to rein himself in sharply.

_On second thought, maybe he __**should **__just pounce on her._ It might be what she needed, wanted. She had certainly acted passionate enough a few minutes ago. But alas, it wasn't in his nature. Not unless it was a _mutual _pounce.

Then again, she was going to undo him if she kept up this alternating lustful, then coy act. Or no, it wasn't an act, so that was not accurate. It was her borderline indecisiveness that had him tied up in knots. What would happen if he just dominated the situation? He could end up sleeping in the woods, that's what.

He went in to kiss her again, and it was as if she had finally decided to yield—to surrender to him. It had happened in a split second. She was done fighting, and he could sense it in her every action. She fisted her hands into his hair again, and he couldn't resist kissing her harder than he ever had before. Deeper, with much more feeling. Balancing on the edge of frenetic.

When she responded, he became almost delirious, and felt like he must be acting like a rabid dog. But there were no unfavorable signs from her. Just encouragement . . . .

He was staggering her, but she remained unfettered, at last determined to find out just how good this could be.

_Turn the boy loose, and let's see how undomesticated he can become._

The tangibility was incredible. None of it seemed unreal, fictitious, or in any way contrived. He wasn't putting on a show. He was truly blown sky high. He'd stopped leashing himself when she responded. She felt it first-hand and head on. He was devouring her mouth with his, acting as if he were famished.

After a solid five minutes of the most mind blowing passion- crazy kissing she'd ever had, Davy began to attack her in the crook of the neck where it joined her shoulder. He threw in little nips and tiny touches of his tongue between the kisses, then finally, sucking, and that was pure torture. Her head lolled back. If they hadn't come to their senses, they might have undressed in front of the windows with the lights on, with the party still going in full force, running the risk of been seen.

Without a word, they entered the bedroom. She felt Davy's eyes on her as they mutely undressed. She got a momentary glance at his very eager, rigid cock as he slipped under the sheet. She'd never felt excitement when seeing one of those before, because they had intimidated her, had always represented pain and discomfort. But what she felt tonight was a fine mist of lust that threatened to turn into a spray, a trickle, and then a flood of need.

Davy tried to stifle his sudden intake of breath when he saw her breasts in the soft light. Her nipples, a couple of shades darker than her skin, were large, and they protruded as if to invite him to taste. Deanna finally shed the last of her clothes except for her socks, and fell into him like a dead weight—something he welcomed.

"Well, hell's bells," Davy murmured, throwing off the sheet. Deanna waited a few seconds, then took the bait, asking what he meant.

"Why did I get under the sheets?" he returned. I can't be mithered with 'em. It's natural to be naked, it is."

His words were distinctly British again. It always seemed to surface with strong emotions. She laughed quietly and discreetly, lest she make him feel self-conscious, because she found it truly appealing, and didn't want to discourage it.

Davy's aggressiveness wasn't to be curtailed. He was done with curbing himself, so he continued his sensual assault on her, purposely not desisting or refraining. She was bombarded with sweet nothings whispered into her ear in the most devil-may-care way that left her breathless. She was really digging this side of him. Kind of wild and careless. Much less refined.

He was hot, like a hound on a fresh trail, he was half out of his mind with the need to make love to her. So he decided to liberate himself from inhibitions. He really had no choice because he'd checked himself for too long already. If she'd resisted or complained, he would have respected that and somehow ceased his onslaught. But she was every bit as avid as he was.

She loved that he was in control of what was happening, but only because she was giving it to him. His confidence expanded now, and his hands roamed over her as his mouth devoured hers. A moment later his mouth covered her breast, sucking, licking, and pulling steadily, and with more pressure than last night. She felt it all the way to her toes, tingling and thrilling, making her moan and push her breasts at him, her fingers cupping his head, urging him on.

Davy wanted to prolong the foreplay—not only because it would excite her, but it would enhance her experience, and hopefully, erase her fear. He wanted her so needful of him that she would be able to abandon any reluctancy, and be free to go forward with him. He wanted to show her all the delights sex with him could bring. If she felt for him as he did for her, it would be nothing short of fantastic.

He continued, without stopping, to devour her nipples, her response telling him her sensitivity was high. His fingers skimmed up and down her sides. It couldn't have been more obvious that her enjoyment was substantial. She was doing a great imitation of a serpent in her writhing.

"I need you," he growled.

Deanna wasn't even capable of speech. She had put an abrupt halt to trying to maintain her shaky dignity, and Davy was oh-so-grateful for that. She sensed it in him, and knew she should have given herself totally to him last night. Trust was no longer an issue, and the embarrassment was quickly evaporating as well. He had taken good care of her. She wanted him with a passion she'd never felt before. It was time . . . time to let go.

His body was creeping downward now. First he was kissing below her breasts, his tongue flicking out now and then. Then he eased a bit lower . . . then lower. By the time it dawned on her where specifically he was heading, she nearly panicked.

She wasn't totally naïve—after all, she'd read and written steamy love scenes, and Cassie had talked about it too, but the fact was, she'd never had that done to her. So, naturally, she tensed up.

_Oh no. Not again._

Davy had thought things were going so well, and now _this._ She was so surprisingly innocent though, that it wouldn't shock him if she'd never experienced oral sex. Well, he was going to change that.

She tried to get away. But this time, instead of letting her retreat, Davy held fast. If she continued to try to get away after he began, he'd stop. But he was going to require her feeling just what he could do before he'd allow her to escape.

He pushed her legs apart, not wasting any time. She felt his warm breath on her inner thigh. So close…

"Davy, no!"

He ignored her, and his tongue made a statement that nothing else could have. It spoke for itself. Within seconds, he no longer had to hold her down. She grew completely silent and remained stiff, yet he could feel her compliance almost from the first touch.

_Oh my God._ It was out of this world. It seemed so dirty, so depraved, so wrong. But underneath it all, she knew that wasn't really the case. He was loving her in a special way. And even though she'd never had this done before, she could tell right away how skilled he was. A few swipes that covered her entire area down there, and then a gentle suck to her labia, parting her with his lips and tongue, and on up to her clit. And that was when she gasped out loud.

She was flushed with embarrassment, knowing she was soaking wet down there, but oddly, it seemed not to repel, but to excite him. He devoured her down there just as he did when kissing her. Kissing, licking, sucking. When he slid his tongue inside, she gasped again, but it seemed she was paralyzed. Paralyzed with the sweetness of his mouth.

She felt her orgasm building very quickly. He knew just what to do, and how to do it, in addition to how much pressure to use, and when to vary his motions. He held her legs wide apart, bent at the knees as he feasted as if she were a long-awaited delectible meal.

And that, in fact, was just how he felt. He'd fantasized about this for almost as long as he'd known her. And she tasted every bit as mouthwatering as he'd dreamed of. He was blown away when he felt her legs tightening, and her already runaway breathing went into overdrive. She started to thrash, and he had to hold her hips down, because, near the end, she began to grind uncontrollably up into his mouth. He nearly came himself when she began to gush and practically scream.

Her hands found his head and held it, guiding him, begging him with soft pleas, her hips moving constantly. As the pressure built, Davy knew exactly when she would come. As she slipped over the edge of her climax, her legs lost their tension and her hips bucked furiously. He kept up the steady sucking and licking on her clit until she cried out over and over, no other name but his on her tongue.

The climax might as well have lasted forever, because it was so intense that Deanna lost all perception of time. She knew she was flooding his mouth, but the thought only intensified her pleasure. The naughtiness of it, his eagerness, the way he rubbed his erection at the foot of the bed when she happened to look down there. All of it combined made her erupt like she never had come close to with her vibrator. The sexiness of it, the forbiddenness was overwhelming.

When the last spasms finally faded away, she lay panting, Davy still between her legs, watching her face, her hair flung all over the pillow, her breasts heaving up and down, a fine sheen of sweat on her skin. So beautiful.

He waited exactly three minutes, then he went for it again. Now she was beyond shocked. And even more so when she found herself on the edge of orgasm again in only thirty seconds. She gave herself to Davy and the orgasm, and this one was as strong, if not stronger, than the first. Powerful, and ultimately leaving her limp. He took his time as he licked her slowly and carefully afterward, knowing she was touchy, then crawled up to her.

"I need you," he repeated his earlier words, and she suddenly knew what he was going to do. Only this time she wasn't facing away from him. He was on top of her—face to face, one of the same positions where she'd been hurt in the past. Her eyes bulged.

"If it hurts at all, tell me and I'll stop," he said in a strangely hoarse voice. "I'll go slow—as slow as you need me to."

She didn't say a word, just nodded and gritted her teeth, preparing to try to endure it if it would make him feel as good as he'd just made her feel.

He used his fingers first, gently, first one, then two. He was so gentle, yet she felt that leashed power barely under the surface. He crooked his finger a few times, and she jerked violently when he found her G-spot—another thing she'd never had done before. He teased her that way, knowing the massage in that special spot would get her even more ready than she already was.

Finally, stating he couldn't wait any longer, he pressed his erection at her entrance. When she stiffened, he stopped moving. When she relaxed, he'd push in a little. He gave her sufficient time to adjust to him, waiting for the magic moment when she would sigh and he'd know the time was right.

It took a while. A good five minutes before he was completely in, their pelvic bones at last pressed snugly together. She did more than sigh—she grabbed him tightly, panting, begging, wanting more. It had been tedious, but now, at last, he could enjoy being inside her. He began to move his hips, and she made no secret of her pleasure. With her calves clasped tightly around his own, he began pumping faster, then slower, kissing her neck and her lips when he slowed down to delay his orgasm. Even so, he was ready to come, his cock twitching and jerking within her. She clasped the walls of her vagina around him, and that triggered it instantly. No way could he hold back any longer.

"Ahhh . . .!" and he was coming in great spurts, pumping quickly, sucking at her breasts hungrily.

"Oh God Deanna," he said as he drew it out as long as he could, still pumping until he was half soft.

She smiled up at him, and he knew there was no way out now.

He was hooked . . . seriously hooked.


	14. Chapter 14

A quiver wracked her as Deanna lay there, remembering and fantasizing about the things Davy had done to her and with her last night. Davy, always awake first, tightened his hold around her waist from behind her. His hard body fit just right, following the contours of her own body, clear down to his knees snuggling into the dip behind her own knees, their feet flush.

"What's up?" he asked, as she turned to look at him, and his smile, all alone, teased her mercilessly. Just his smile—nothing else. That smile . . . lethal.

When she didn't answer, simply because she was hopelessly caught up in his smile, and helplessly mute because of it, he took it upon himself to guess.

"Thinking about last night?"

She tried avoiding his eyes that always blazed deliciously invasively into hers, but he wouldn't let her look away. His hand cradled her cheek, turning her face to him.

"Okay, yes. I was remembering . . . _it_," she reluctantly admitted.

With perfect timing—before she became too uncomfortable with the subject matter, he switched gears. God, he was smooth.

"Are you game to go to Molakai today?"

"You mean you were really serious?" she asked, her senses perking up in an instant.

"Of course I am, if you are. We might have some trouble getting away from Edna and Norman though," he said thoughtfully as he fingered his love beads.

"Yeah, it'll be hard to leave them," she agreed. "I almost feel as if they're my substitute grandparents."

"True, that. They're very 'grandparent-ish,'" he agreed. "But then again, you have to admit they do know how to party as if they were at least thirty years younger than they are," Davy had obvious affection for the people they'd so quickly become friends with.

* * *

"We're going to Molakai—maybe even today if the guy is around," Davy told Edna and Norman a little later.

"Molakai! Oh my . . . but there's nothing there!" Edna's eyebrows shot up, and she seemed very alarmed.

"That's just the point," Davy volleyed right back. "We're looking forward to the privacy of having the island all to ourselves."

Norman looked uneasy. "Do you think it's safe to do that? It's about an hour's boat ride away from any from any other island."

"We're going, it's final," said Davy firmly, but without showing disrespect. "We've been looking forward to it, and I can't see us ending our vacation without going."

Davy went with Norman then to help fix one of the rental cottage's fences when he saw Norman arranging the necessary tools on a wheelbarrow. It came naturally to him to volunteer to help with anything that needed doing. That irrepressible energy always seemed to be vibrating in the atmosphere around him.

"Feisty thing, isn't he?" said Edna to Deanna as they sat on Edna's porch a little later.

"Oh yes, he can be. But I rarely see that side of him. I wonder how often they see it at the Pad," said Deanna vaguely, almost as if to herself.

"The Pad?" Edna looked bewildered.

_Uh-oh_. There she'd gone again, forgetting the older couple thought they were married.

"Well, Davy lives at the Pad, a place he's renting with the band. I'm sorry we gave you the impression we're married." Edna's rather shrewd eyes gazed at her as if she had suspected it all along.

"We don't rent to unmarried couples," Edna said a minute later, now a dour look on her features.

Deanna's heart felt heavy, leaden. She hadn't meant to disappoint Edna. Then Edna began to laugh. "I was only kidding! Of course it's alright! You're far too somber. You two should know by now that Norman and I are "hip."

Deanna laughed as the relief rolled over her. "I agree, you are. And I'm glad of it, because we wouldn't have wanted to offend you and Norman."

"True, that," said Davy as he rounded the corner of the house with the wheelbarrow, Norman following behind. "Got the fence fixed." He was clever at changing the subject at crucial times. He had an uncanny talent for it, even though he hadn't heard the conversation in its entirety.

"Oh, we drink, but not to excess. Not at our age," Norman chimed in, indicating he'd also heard at least part of the conversation. "When we were younger, it was a different story oftentimes!"

"We hate to see you go. Will you be back to visit before you leave to go back to California?" asked Edna.

"Of course we will," said Deanna. "You couldn't keep us away." The older woman hugged Deanna, and then Davy, hard and long. "We're sure going to miss you, even though you didn't stay long," Edna said, not quite being successful in keeping an errant tear from escaping. Deanna watched as it disappeared into the deep creases of the older woman's cheeks, and felt one of her own starting to form and begin to trickle insidiously until she quickly wiped it away.

As they left the cottage rental to head to Lahaina to find the man called Kapena, Deanna studied Davy as he maneuvered the jeep with dexterity and confidence. The way he handled the gear shift—even_ that_ aroused her. Such proficiency, such mastery. Everything about him screamed composure and self-command. Boy, she was a lost cause when it came to him.

They didn't have much trouble finding Kapena, the local who transported people around the islands. He was just getting back from taking a family to Lanai, and as he neared them in his canoe, Davy called to him. It was decided that if they brought all their gear back in the early afternoon, Kapena would take them to Molakai that very day. For the first time, the concrete reality hit Deanna that she and Davy would be all alone on their own island. Was it all a dream? Her dream man, on a dream vacation and now, they'd have seclusion on a dream island. It hardly seemed possible.

Davy discussed with Kapena about him bringing supplies to them every couple of days, and the price was many times less than Davy would have imagined. They even managed to find someone who would drive the jeep back to the rental place when they had unloaded their stuff and embarked in Kapena's canoe. Because there would be three people and their gear, Kapena told them they would be taking his canoe instead of his kayak. They had far too much cargo for the kayak to accommodate. In fact, Davy realized they'd be pushing it, even with the canoe. He silently hoped Kapena wouldn't ultimately turn them down.

"We only have a little over a week of our vacation left," said Davy as they arrived back at the cottage and began to load the jeep.

"Don't remind me," Deanna whined, as she had tried to stay in the moment; tried to forget the days before them were numbered.

"What about Peter?" he asked, not sure if he should have even broached the subject.

"Well, if we camp on Molakai for a few days, we could meet him at the airport and spend the last few days in Maui with him. But that's up to you, Davy." Deanna had been planning on bringing it up again anyway, before they got back to Lahaina. She wanted to give Davy every opportunity to have his friend join them if that was what he desired.

"Well, it's true he wouldn't be in the same hotel room with us," said Davy, furrowing his brow in thought. "So we'd still have privacy at night, and we could take Peter around during the day . . . "

Davy _was not_ giving up his nights with Deanna. Peter had ample savings to get his own room. The only real challenge would be Peter getting away from Mike. With oniy two band members remaining, they wouldn't be able to do any gigs until at least Peter came back. Peter had hinted on the phone that they'd gotten some great gigs lined up for when Davy returned, so hopefully Peter being gone for a few days wouldn't make any difference as far as money coming in, and Mike would relent.

Davy's pang of resentment at the idea of Peter horning in on them didn't last long. Peter was unobtrusive and wouldn't be overbearing. It just wasn't his way. Davy just hoped he wouldn't expect to go everywhere with them, but Peter was a big boy, and could figure out how to get around by himself. He could also rent his own jeep, or use theirs. Nothing was set in stone though—Peter still had to talk to Michael once he was invited, and that would be the biggest hurdle.

Inviting him though, was a big deal, as once it was done, it couldn't be _undone._ And Davy was pretty certain Peter would do everything in his power to get to Hawaii. For one thing, he'd never been there, but the biggest reason being he'd go just about anywhere to be with Davy. Davy could see Peter facing fire and brimstone, just for the pleasure of Davy's company. He wasn't good at concealing his "hero worship." That was something Davy had trouble understanding, as Peter was the most amazing musician he'd ever known. If there were to be any hero worship around here, it should be the other way around. . . And if it were more than that, Davy was damned if he could decipher it, unscramble it so it made sense. Maybe Peter thought of him as a brother or cousin. . . but somehow Davy knew on a deeper, more obscure level that it was more intricate than that.

"If we're going to invite him, we have to do it as soon as possible," Deanna started thinking about Peter catching a flight in time. This was _really_ what you called last minute.

"Yeah, we need to call him before we leave for Molokai," agreed Davy. "Are you completely sure you want him to come?"

"Yes, if you do."

"Okay, I'll call him now," and Davy headed for Edna and Norman's cottage to use their phone, purpose written all over his long stride with those delectable long legs of his. Deanna jerked her eyes away, ashamed at how flagrant she was being, watching him like a hungry tigress.

After what seemed like a long stretch of time, Davy returned. "He's jazzed," reported Davy. "To say the least. In fact, he says he's gonna haul ass over here as fast as he can," he laughed. "When Kepena brings us our supplies in two days, we can ride back with him and call Peter again to find out what day and time he'll be here so we can meet him at the airport. I hope he's able to find a flight this fast. I think our vacation is going to have to end up running over two weeks." Davy looked at her with concern. "Any way you can manage that? Otherwise, we'll be majorly pressed for time."

Deanna wasn't thrown at all. "As long as you can stay longer, so can I." She could barely conceal her excitement at staying in Hawaii with Davy for longer than planned.

"Groovy! I also called the trip sponsor while I was at it. They say we can extend the vacation, and they'll still pay for our flight back," Davy was so overjoyed that his eyes fairly gleamed.

"That's the best news I've ever heard! I'll just make up for my lost school work in September. I can call work and have someone cover for me. That'll be no problem. What about gigs?"

"Pete said the gigs they have lined up are three weeks away. Real good gigs. Mike didn't give him a hard time because of that. So looks like everything is falling right into place. That's gotta be a positive sign."

That explained why he'd been on the phone so long—calling the trip sponsor was something Deanna had to admit she might have forgotten in her excitement. Deanna went back to Edna's cottage herself this time, and called in to work. They were like a family at work—they looked after each other, and there was a girl who needed hours, and stressed she'd be glad to take over for Deanna for another two or three weeks or even longer if Deanna decided to stay longer.

"Oh, it won't be longer than that, I'm sure," Deanna said. "I owe you a big one."

"No problem, I can use the money." Deanna got off the phone with an enormous smile.

* * *

It seemed that they waited a long time for Kapena to show up, and Davy paced, kicking bits of sand haphazardly, nervous and twitchy. Deanna wasn't quite sure why. Deanna was in a worse way than Davy. Davy was the strong one. He'd make sure they were safe, but she couldn't help but remember what Norman and Edna had said about being an hour away by boat from anywhere populated. What if they had some kind of emergency? But her youthful sense of adventure overrode that thought when she saw Kapena arrive, looking skeptically at all their gear.

Hardly greeting them, Kapena stuffed their things into the seventeen foot canoe, not even allowing Davy to help. He carefully arranged it so the load would be evenly distributed. Deanna was surprised at how much the canoe could hold.

Kapena didn't look especially happy when he motioned for them to embark. Davy suspected he was concerned about the load. Davy knew he had to trust the guide if they were going to get to Molokai. In the sixties, there was no other way to get there.

Davy tossed the keys to the jeep to the guy who was returning it. In the canoe, they all knelt on the floor, Davy explaining to Deanna that it would create a lower center of gravity. Kapena sat in the back, making the canoe easier to steer, as he was the most experienced.

This was it—they were on their way to Molakai! Davy was beginning to wonder if an inordinate number of locals who offered services such as this in Hawaii were a people of few words, but after a bit of conversation, Kapena began to warm up.

He even helped them to decide where to go on Molakai for the best beaches. He admitted he was surprised they even wanted to go there, as he rarely got requests to take people there. When Davy told him what they were looking for—privacy, beautiful scenery, light swimming, and a nice place to camp, Kapena told them about the area that was later to become Murphy's Beach. He personally felt it was probably the most likely to please them, with its narrow, palm-fringed beaches. He said the water was very shallow, but if they didn't mind that, there were a lot of tropical fish, turtles, sponge and octopi to be seen. Murphy's Beach also offered ironwood trees, and there was a reef barrier around it, making it a little more safe and protected for swimming. You did, however, have to look out for rock and coral in the shallow water. But the area was generally calm, and not prone to strong wind.

When Deanna finally saw it, her arms aching after almost an hour of rowing, her instincts said that Kapena had steered them in the right direction. It knocked the breath right out of her. Kapena, full of pride, smiled at her approval. When the guide had said it was probably the most scenic, he wasn't kidding. He'd understated its beauty. As he navigated the canoe gracefully and skillfully around the coral, with Davy's considerable help and Deanna's more limited capabilities, one look at Davy's face, and Deanna knew he had also fallen head over heels for Kapena's suggestion. It was a little piece of Heaven.

The water looked even bluer, if that were possible, than the water on Maui, the sand was a beautiful golden, and it looked untouched; the coconut palms and shrubbery they'd heard about offered shade. The ironwood trees also went a long way toward shading from the brilliant sun. Kapena droned on about the island, telling them there were warm, balmy breezes most of the time, as there was today.

He helped them unload their suitcases and bags, along with a couple of barrels of fresh water. As Deanna explored in the immediate area, Davy talked to Kapena again about bringing them supplies and food, and Kapena assured him he would be very timely.

As Kapena rowed off in the canoe, saying he'd be back "day after tomorrow," Davy had a smile that wouldn't quit pasted on his features.

"It's beautiful, just beautiful!" exclaimed Deanna, running her fingers through the fine, roasted peanut colored sand as she also marveled at the flashes of the brilliant colored fish she could see in the water.

"What are you smiling at?" she inquired.

"He quoted me about a fourth of what I expected for his every-two-day visit. He's going to be getting some nice tips."

"Do you think he's reliable?" Deanna couldn't help feeling a little bit of uneasiness at being all alone and at the island's mercy if Kapena decided not to come back.

"Oh yeah. You heard how many people recommended him. He's the most reliable we'll find, I believe. Don't worry. Right, we need to find a place for our camp and set up the tent. Remember, shelter first, then water, fire and food," he joked. "I brought matches, of course," he cocked an eyebrow and made her laugh. They were a long way from _really_ roughing it. They already had food, fresh water, means to build a fire, and a tent.

"We can even try our hand at fishing if we want to," said Davy. "Not today, but if we ever get in the mood."

Deanna couldn't help herself. She was imagining being alone in the tent with Davy and their sleeping bags. Completely, utterly alone. It would be a different kind of alone than they'd had in the hotel room or cottage, or ever. It would be a kind of _wild_ alone. Completely dependent on each other, and better yet, no one to disturb them, nothing to distract them. Her throat got tight, her heart rate spiked and her legs felt weak. She couldn't wait until it got dark.

They found an ideal, mostly shady spot well out of the way of the high tide, which Davy showed her was marked by the water line in the sand. They got the tent set up quickly, Davy having had lots of experience, as with most things that had to do with the outdoors. Then they went in search of wood and kindling for their fire so they'd be toasty warm, even though they already knew it wouldn't be getting colder than the sixties at night.

As Davy arranged the wood, Deanna started unpacking their tins of food, some bread and cheese and crackers, pillows, sleeping bags, and positioning them inside the tent, setting the water bottles just outside the tent. They had canned nuts for protein, sardines, canned vegetables and fruit, even beef jerky.

After the wood was readied for the fire to be lit later, Davy came inside the tent, looked around approvingly, and unzipped the sleeping bags, casually opening them all the way. "It won't be cold enough to sleep in them with the fire, and besides, I want you up against me, not wrapped up in a separate sleeping bag," he said with a grin. As if she _wanted_ to get away from him by hiding in a sleeping bag!

"We have the blankets too, of course, if we need them. For a minute there, I didn't think Kapena would accept all this crap. Makes the canoe more likely to tip over." She was glad Davy hadn't mentioned this fact before their trip.

Davy bustled back outside to check the wood yet again to be sure it was stacked in a teepee kind of heap, adjusting it just so. Deanna slipped out of the tent, and knelt beside him as he worked.

"Slow down . . . there's no hurry," she said kindly, as she cupped his cheeks in her cool palms, then began stroking his face tenderly with her fingers. Davy abandoned all other thoughts to savor this, to get lost in the sensations. His eyes closed and he gave himself over to the feel of her soothing fingers on his face.

"I might get too used to this. I've thought about this for a long time," he added softly, turning his head away as if admitting a terrible wrongdoing.

"About what?" she wasn't sure what he meant.

He turned his head back to her, his eyes drilling deep into hers. "Coming over here to Molakai with you. Maybe it's why I got a little defensive about it with Edna and Norman. I was really looking forward to it. I was afraid they'd talk you out of it. I know they only meant well, though. I first thought about it clear back when I started researching Hawaii, and learned about Molakai."

Deanna's heart lifted. This was the first time he'd openly admitted to looking for romance with her, something more than a brief affair; other than that comment he'd made about her tearing him apart, or making him whole. Oh, and that other comment he'd made about wondering if they'd go their separate ways once back in Malibu. So actually, he _had_ been making remarks, now that she thought about it. She supposed she just hadn't taken them seriously. They hadn't been all that vague either, now that she stopped to think about it.

Could it be possible that, perhaps he was hoping for the same things she was? But no . . . she didn't really even know what it was that _she _truly wanted. And what they had was fresh and new. How could she expect it to stay this way? He might grow tired of it, of her. It might grow stale for him.

Flustered, she scurried back into the tent and busied herself with arranging the suitcases, her nightgowns, her hair brush. Davy felt rebuffed. She hadn't said a word—had just gotten up and gone back into the tent. He hoped she didn't think he was foreseeing just sex for them here, and nothing else. That wasn't what he'd meant at all when he had referred to wanting to whisk her away to Molakai. But what was he supposed to do? Tell her he dreamed of the two of them falling in love? He chastised himself for at least not making himself a little more clear.

Talking about getting her alone on Molakai. Yeah, that had sounded a little presumptuous. Well, he'd show her different. He'd prove her wrong, if that was what she was thinking. They'd had their share of setbacks, but he wasn't going to let this one gain any traction. He was learning more about her all the time.

At around two o'clock, they spread out a blanket under some trees next to the tent and had bread and cheese with fresh fruit. Davy put special emphasis on romance, offering her a flower he'd found nearly, but having had no idea what it was. It was a Kukui blossom, although neither of them knew that. It was an impressive spray of small, white delicate blooms. They were the very flowers leis were often made from.

"Are you afraid at all?" asked Deanna, jolting Davy out of a daydream. One of many daydreams he entertained regularly—and lately, she was featured in all of them.

"Of what?"

"Oh, night time. It'll be dark in about seven hours or so. We have no idea what inhabits this island," she said.

"Good point. But remember, I researched. There aren't any dangerous animals on this island. We have nothing to fear but where we walk, and where we swim. If we're careful, nothing will happen. There is a lot of lava on this island. Don't walk around barefoot. Always wear shoes. Don't go swimming unless I'm with you, and don't go swimming at all if there are waves or a current. Don't swim out past the coral. Speaking of coral, treat it with caution. It can be very sharp. It can cut your feet. It's just common sense, really. That's why this island is so ideal. Privacy with no threats as long as you use your head."

"What about the weather?"

"Well, if it starts storming, of course, we'll have to stay in the tent and hope it doesn't blow away," his voice morphed into a chuckle with the last two words.

"That's really not funny, Davy."

"But we do have to be realistic. Rainfall is usually light, and Hawaii, in general, rarely has storms that include thunder and lightning. Still, we need to be prepared, just in case we happen to get heavy rain. That usually only happens in the winter though. I'm just giving you a synopsis of possibilities. But by far the most likely scenario is light trade winds and warm temperatures. In other words, paradise like what we have today."

Deanna felt lighter now, knowing there didn't appear that there would be any real menace on this island. He'd already told her that before, of course, but it helped to have his prior assurances reinforced. That meant she could concentrate on what she wanted to concentrate on. Davy—on winning his heart.

The food had tasted so good after the canoe ride. They'd hardly taken their eyes off each other for a single bite of the simple meal. He'd called her groovy and outasite. She'd almost melted from the compliments. They repeated a brief exploration of their immediate camp site to be sure everything was secure. Deanna found Davy was right. There was a lot of lava on the island.

_At least she was meeting his eyes a lot more now._ Davy dragged air into his lungs with an effort that he was conscious must be evident to Deanna. He couldn't help it. And it wasn't the effects of the humidity—it was the effects of Deanna herself. He kept looking at her sun-kissed cheeks, the outline of her breasts gently stretching the material of her mesh blouse every time she moved, the lushness of her hips, emphasizing the slenderness of her waist. The casualness of the way she had one leg thrown over the other, tapping her foot to some silent tune playing in her head . . . or could it be a nervous habit? He recalled suddenly how she'd also done that very thing in the library. In any case, she looked more relaxed than he could remember ever seeing her. So perhaps the foot tapping was a sign of contentment.

She was perfection to him, even her _imperfections._ Like the way her hair was a little too fine for the island breeze, and thus tangled easily, or her rather overly reserved manner, her shyness that persisted still. He found these traits to be compelling; calling him to take them to task. To enjoy her flyaway hair by smoothing it through his fingers, goad her into becoming a little less shy and retiring. He rose to the challenge. These traits were endearing, but he could find ways to enhance them and bring out the true inner Deanna. The uncensored Deanna that he'd, so far, only seen glimpses of.

"I can turn the transistor on—that is, if we get any reception out here," he teased, knowing she would be aware that any reception would be spotty at best.

"No thanks. I love the sound of the waves, and your breathing." Somehow, that statement, even though it exposed and acknowledged his rather labored breath, turned him on hard and fast. The fact that she _knew_ he was breathing with an effort excited him, wondering if she knew_ she_ was the reason for it.

The sand was so clean and pristine, so devoid of human habitation, or at least recent habitation, she thought as she cupped it into her palm and let it spill through her fingers. Her eyes were pulled back again to Davy's soft, full, sensual lips. She had thought she would eventually grow weary of staring at them, but it hadn't happened yet. Not even close. They constantly seemed to call to her.

So hyper aware of his presence, so bound up in the thought of being in this exotic place, hearing his increased respiration, and wondering if that indicated he was as expectant as she was . . . it was all such a delicious riddle to be solved. It should be simple, but she was so prone to overthinking. She did trust him now, yes, but the apparitions of all those girls screaming when they saw him at the club still would not stop patronizing her thoughts at odd moments.

They lay under the trees, kissed a little, talked a lot, and kissed a little more. Davy mentioned swimming at night, since the water would remain warm enough. He promised her he wouldn't leave her side, and Deanna found herself becoming anxious, waiting for sunset so they could indulge. Davy thought about skinny dipping too, but that would have to wait for now. He doubted she would agree to it at this point.

"Come on, take your top off," he said as sunset finally arrived. She had a swim suit on underneath, but still got unreasonably shy about taking off her blouse, even though he'd seen her breasts completely bare. . . and touched them . . . and kissed them. So a swim suit top should be easy for her to reveal. Yet, her bashfulness hung on stubbornly. Better get off that track of thinking about what he'd done to her breasts, or she'd end up making mad love to him before they even hit the water.

"Be careful," he warned as they entered the water. Don't step on sharp rocks or coral. It's better to just swim, since we can't see the bottom at night."

So that is what they did. It helped on the road to creating a magical bond between them. She kept her eyes on him continuously, as it was really dark out there. She didn't have to worry though, he never swam further than a few feet away from her.

"Maybe we can leave our suits off next time," he dared to say as they came out of the water half an hour later. She hugged him as an answer, and he was content with that. More than content . She began to stroke her fingertips over his ribs, up and down. She was attempting to tickle him, but it had a different effect. An effect that slammed through him and almost made his knees knuckle.

His cock inflated in a New York minute, and in his tight red swim suit, his arousal would be very apparent. But they were in the dark, and that was his saving grace. If she weren't still so uptight, he wouldn't be, but the fact remained that he felt a little naughty, as if he should be more in control of his erection. They crawled into the tent and Davy changed into dry clothes, then he dried Deanna's hair with a towel. Afterward, she did the same to him. She was still in her wet swim suit, but the night air did not have much of a chill. They were close, both physically and emotionally, the tent being only a two-person model. The heaviness and desire the closeness brought made her feel drugged. Davy wedged the flashlight between two suitcases so it wasn't shining in their eyes, but so they could see around the inside of the tent.

"Have you waited for this, as I have?" he asked, and his eyes held the question that was hanging between them.

"Yes." That one word was music to his ears. They were melded together on top of the open sleeping bags, and her body told him her tension was much reduced since the last time they'd been about to be in an intimate situation.

Her eyes kept going to below his waist, staring at the loose pajama bottoms he was wearing. In fact, she was almost gawking. She wanted to touch, but how to let him know that? She wanted to feel that hardness in her hand, that rigidity. She'd never wanted particularly to touch a penis before and had only done it out of necessity. But with Davy, she felt a compulsion to feel his want, his need, his heat.

Her hand lowered by tiny increments over his belly, and Davy's shrewd gaze missed none of it. He found he was almost holding his breath. Her fingers trailed lower on his stomach, inch by inch her hand got closer, now barely below the waistband of his pajama pants, and Davy could no longer tolerate the anticipation. He pressed her hand against himself with his own hand. She eagerly closed her fingers around his cock through his pajamas. He was astounded, almost aghast at her action. She'd never shown this much initiative. He was high with the discovery, the joy of it. His moan could not be missed. She squeezed lightly, and his hips tilted.

"Oh Deanna. You just don't know . . . ." Davy lost his stream of consciousness, and any words he might have said slipped away. He wasn't capable of active cognition. All he knew was her soft, sweet hand was caressing his cock. Now it was moving up, sliding over his hardness, all the way to the top, and she touched the head tentatively. His gasp came even though he struggled to swallow it. God, how he wanted her to stroke it!

They were eye to eye now, the flashlight being barely bright enough to make out each other's facial expressions, but things were translucent anyway because they were coming to know each other well. Deanna felt the shudder of a tremor go through the both of them, their eyes still locked.

"Here we are," Davy sputtered, barely able to form sentences from his numb lips. All his feeling seemed to be in either his heart or his cock. "This is what I've looked forward to for a long time. It's been my dream ever since you said you'd come to Hawaii with me."

"Molakai?"

"Yes, the two of us . . . . alone here, in Molakai. For now, we own it. And I dig that."

Her hand finally stroked him, slowly and tenderly. He strained against her, no mental bindings holding him back.

"Davy . . . make love to me."

The intensity, the impact of those words almost frightened him.

He pulled her up to a sitting position, slowly pulling a string from the back of the top of her swim suit so it fell free. He continued to take his time, hoping she would feel as all-consumed as he did with this spellbinding feeling. He looked down then at her rapidly expanding nipples, firm and peaked as she continued to rub his erection through his pajamas.

He hooked his thumbs into the sides of her bikini bottoms, looking up and asking permission with his eyes before pulling them down and off. After sweeping his eyes over her body in a languid and obvious way, he reached over to turn off the flashlight, and they were suddenly dipped into darkness except for the moon over the water, streaming in through the opening in the tent flap.

Davy got up and closed the flap then, more out of habit than anything, since they were more than thirty miles from another human being, and made his way back to her. They had never made love in complete darkness before. It was so suspenseful, hearing him shuffle toward her, waiting for his touch, wondering what his next move would be. Wondering if she'd feel him brush against her, or his hands, his lips . . .

He didn't fumble, but found her as if it were daylight. How could someone always be so precise? His hand landed in the small of her back, making it easy to scoot her up tight against him. His lips felt cool as they brushed against hers, and then settled on them, moving and flowing, reminding her of the motion of the sea just outside.

He was always a surprise, so she arranged her state of mind to accept whatever he brought to the table. She'd be compliant. Davy was never unreasonable, never demanding, so she was not distressed in the least. It all came with the trust he'd so painstakingly built.

Euphoric bliss enveloped her as his lips continued to move on hers, and then become more aggressive as his appetite increased. He felt voracious, but showing it might discourage her, and that was to be strictly avoided if he could help it.

His breathing unsteady, Davy drew it out. This was their paradise, and Deanna deserved all the romance he could deliver. And, to a woman, that meant lots of kissing and anticipation. He found he enjoyed it with her a hell of a lot better than he had with anyone else. His tongue worked its way into her mouth, and they both sighed with the intensity, the sweetness.

He'd shed his pajama bottoms, and he felt her soft pubic hair brush against his cock as her soft moans filled his mouth. The skin on her neck was salty from the sea they'd just emerged from. He imagined he smelled like seaweed, but they hadn't taken the time to sponge the salt water off their bodies with their fresh water supply. They had to be careful with the fresh water until they figured out how much they would be using daily. But all that was a blur right now. There was only darkness and Deanna.

Deanna's hand found him again as they kissed with their own particular passion that had branded them like a hot iron. His hips tipped again, something he evidently could not control when she touched him. And Lord knows, he'd tried. He was still watering things down in fear of making her take a step back, although she was doing an excellent job of convincing him she was in forward-mode.

Forward mode was putting it mildly. She was full steam ahead, yearning, straining for that feeling she had when he was deep inside her. She wanted that again, and she wanted it critically. She held him firmly at the base, making the breath catch in his throat, then gliding her hand up to the head, feeling the wetness at the tip, circling it, fingering the ridge right beneath, experimenting to find what he liked. She couldn't believe she was actually enjoying this, craving it. It had always been a chore before. A chore to be endured. With him, it was on a whole different plane. When she began stroking him steadily again, he stayed her hand with his own.

"Careful . . ." was all he had to say, and she understood. And felt powerful in the process. She clenched at her core, knowing that she had leverage here—good leverage. She loved reducing him to soft moans and sighs, even tiny whimpers when she touched his balls, exploring them, separating them with her fingers, humming in satisfaction when he spread his legs to allow her more access. He was on his back, letting her investigate however much she wanted.

She found herself crawling completely on top of him, kissing his neck, breathing him in, stroking his hair, and rubbing her pubic bone against his erection. Davy was glad it was dark, as he feared that if he could see her right now, on top of him, he'd probably have an instant orgasm. He pictured it in his mind, her grinding against him. The blatant wetness down there . . . . knowing she was aroused as all hell.

She stopped grinding and wrapped her hand around him again, and he immediately brushed her hand away, fearing he'd squirt all over everything. Instead, he coaxed her legs apart by putting his leg between them, then fingering her, readying her before he would ease his cock into her. Feeling her slickness, slipping his finger inside, tickling and massaging her G-spot, thrusting his fingers in and out, first slowly, then more assertively. It was so wet, so inviting.

Deanna's breath was long, deep, yet sharp as he entered her. She instinctively got up on her knees, since she was on top, but remained still, uncertain.

"This position is good. You can control things yourself this way," he reassured her. It was true she could fuck him at her own pace, control the depth too. She was gaining confidence by the mile. She moved slowly at first, gradually, until she was impaled on him, he encased all the way inside her. Then she ground against him while he was in very deep, so deep he could hardly move—just enough to drive him wild. Clenching inside and making him groan.

From here she began to glide up farther and farther until he almost slipped out of her, then she slid down again until she was all the way to the base. He grunted, grasping her, fighting for breath. She did this over and over. Deep, short strokes, then long, sensual ones.

Davy was going mad from within. He pulled her torso down so he could suck her nipples, causing his cock jerk to inside her. She felt it, and squeezed him in return. Now he was almost past the point of no return. His hand went down to her pubic area, and he rubbed her clit in time to the rhythm of her hips, following her lead. First slow, then fast. He gritted his teeth together to keep from coming too soon.

Faster and faster she moved on him, and he timed the strokes of his fingers perfectly, keeping them in perfect synch to her movements. The tingles in the base of his spine started right as her middle began to warm up and the heat to spread, rippling in sinfully decadent waves. He dipped his head, sucking her breasts as if he'd die without it.

They cried out together, calling each other's names as they rode the crest, Davy's seed finally spurting over and over; then they continued to move together randomly, lazily wringing out every last bit of their climaxes.

They lay in each other's arms, Deanna still on top of Davy, and sometime later, he mentioned that he'd forgotten to start the fire, but to hell with it. She laughed.

"I hope you remembered to bring toilet paper, because I didn't."

"I did, don't worry. And Kapena has a list too."

"You're always on top of things."

"Well, actually, right now, _you're _on top," he answered. "And I like it. And mind you, it's a good thing it's dark, because I know I can't even look at you unless you want to go for a second round," he laughed in half-embarrassment. He meant it. She turned him on that much.

"I want to give you at least one or two more orgasms," he said, and she delighted in the fact that he wanted so much to please her.

"I think we're both pretty tired out from all that rowing," she said. "I don't see how Kapena does it all day long."

"Yeah, and he was doing the majority of it," agreed Davy.

All was quiet for a moment, when Deanna thought she heard a faint scratching sound. She looked toward Davy, not being able to see him in the dark, but he was motionless, so she knew he'd heard it too.

There it was again, and this time it was obvious the scratching was right up against the tent. Deanna gasped, and Davy was up in a split second, grabbing the flashlight and turning it on.

"Where's my brown suitcase?" he asked urgently. She pointed to the corner. He opened it, rummaged through clothes to the bottom, and pulled something out. She couldn't see what it was. Shouldering the tent flap open, he held the flashlight in his left hand and the object in his right. In the light of the moon, she caught the glint of blue metal just as he exited the tent, and then the flap closed. She could hardly believe her eyes. It was a gun . . .


	15. Chapter 15

"Davy!" Deanna cried, opening the flap of the tent in an attempt to follow him out into the darkness.

"_No!_ Stay inside, do you hear me? _Do not_ come out here." His voice sounded like it didn't belong to him. There was a sharp, harsh grate to it. A real no-nonsense air. She knew he was only thinking of her safety, so she obeyed, closing the flap and standing back, wondering what in the world could be out there.

If it were a big, strong animal, she feared the gun wouldn't be enough. Shooting it might only enrage the animal, causing it to maul Davy. A billion thoughts assaulted her. Grisly, horrible thoughts of Davy's mangled body being dragged away. Every second he was gone was an eternity.

But hardly five minutes later the flap flew open, and Deanna nearly let out a scream, fearing it might not be him. But it was indeed Davy, looking perfectly fine, although a little pale and out of breath.

"Couldn't find anything," he said, placing the Smith and Wesson revolver on top of the suitcase this time, instead of inside it. He also scooted the suitcase to where it was next to the sleeping bags, within easy reach.

"I didn't know you'd brought a gun!" Deanna was so relieved that Davy was unharmed that the words just escaped her lips without prior thought. She'd been half out of her mind with terror for him, but didn't want to voice it, hence her outburst about the gun. Not that it mattered. It was just something to say to fill the uneasy silence. All that really mattered was that Davy was alright.

"I bought it—when we were in separate shops that time, buying the camping gear. I couldn't bring one here on the plane, of course. I got it for protection. Just to be sure." He hadn't wanted to alarm her, so he had not mentioned buying the gun. It was really only a precaution, but now he was glad he'd decided to do it. You just never knew . . .

"But, you won't be able to take it back home."

"No, I figured I'll probably sell it here, before we leave."

"Thank goodness you have it."

Davy sighed in relief. "I'm glad you aren't upset about it. I know how some people feel about guns, and I didn't want to scare you. I've had experience with them though. Actually, I'm a pretty good shot. And I'm very safe with it."

"It's beautiful," Deanna crooned, admiring the weapon.

"It's a 357. Sure wish I could take it back with me," he said wistfully.

After a moment of silence-"What do you think it was?" Deanna was referring to the noise they'd heard, hating like hell to bring it up again, because the goose bumps began to rise, although she'd tried to distract herself with the gun discussion. She had to have some peace of mind or she knew for sure she'd never sleep.

"No idea. It was only a slight scratching noise, so I'm sure it was something small." Davy was grasping at straws, trying to think of anything he could say that might calm her fears.

"Even something big can make a small scratching sound," Deanna demonstrated by scratching her nails lightly on the tent. "I'm kind of scared, Davy. I mean, it could get in here so easily."

She was now having visions of some huge animal barreling into the flap of the tent and attacking them, or even crushing the tent with its weight, and them along with it. The thought of being eaten alive also kept popping up.

"I told you, Deanna. There aren't any dangerous animals on this island, or I wouldn't have brought you here."

"What if it's an animal that just hasn't been sited here before?"

"You're worrying far too much. It was probably a bird that lost its way or something. Fell out of its roost in a tree." He hugged her, and felt how tense she was. He wasn't afraid, but he knew she was. He reminded himself that he was, after all, a fearless warrior. That thought almost made him laugh out loud. But he didn't because she'd think he had gone insane. It really was funny though, because yeah, he got scared just like anyone else. He just didn't show it. He always responded in his signature daunting manner when threatened. More often than not, it worked. If you had a mean, evil enough look in your eyes and a similar demeanor, it didn't matter nearly as much that you were short. But even he knew it wouldn't work against a large, aggressive animal. He was going to keep that gun right there, within arm's reach.

* * *

"I'm itchy," were her first words when she awoke. Davy was already warming water for instant coffee over a fire. When did the guy sleep? So far, she'd rarely caught him slumbering. He might have stayed awake all night, listening for the scratching sound that, blessedly, had not come again. Or at least not that she had heard.

She'd finally slept after staying awake for God knew how long, latched onto Davy for the duration. But she'd never gotten the idea he was asleep. She just _knew,_ somehow, that he was alert, probably long after she'd finally given in to sleep.

"It's from the salt water," answered Davy, referring to her comment about being itchy. "You need to sponge off with the fresh water we brought."

Deanna got dressed and went for her toothbrush and toothpaste. She filled a glass of water, and went out onto the sand to brush her teeth. As she passed him to go back into the tent, she offered the toothpaste to him.

"I already did that, a long time ago."

"How long have you been up?"

"Oh, since about six."

"What time is it?"

"Nine."

Nine o'clock! How had she managed to sleep so late when she'd been so terrified last night?

"Did you see any evidence?" she asked, knowing he'd know what she meant.

"Nope, no tracks, footprints. Nothing."

Well, at least that was good news. If it were a big animal, surely there would have been tracks in this sand that currently only showed the prints of their shoes—nothing else.

Deanna went behind the tent to sponge off with the fresh water, and Davy grinned at her modesty. It was starting to get a little on the ridiculous side.

Davy chuckled out loud when he took their coffee mugs into the tent, and Deanna was now applying make-up with the small mirror from her purse.

"Just a little blush and mascara. Otherwise I look like an anemic ghost," she said. This time he laughed heartily. She had no idea how beautiful she was, even completely devoid of make-up.

* * *

She was shadowing him, and she knew it, yet couldn't seem to stop herself. Whether he was aware of it or not, he didn't indicate, and went about exploring, gathering wood and piling it next to the tent for later use, but she could bet he'd seen her every move. Her fear of the noise last night had dissipated in the light of day- things no longer seeming sinister, so that was not why she stayed so close to him. It was because she _wanted _to. She was feeling perilously drawn to him.

He noticed it, alright, and it pleased him. They'd gone from her totally rejecting him, to tolerance, then acceptance, and now . . . well, he didn't really know exactly where they stood except that she was following him around as if he were the Pied Piper. And that was good enough for him.

She'd always wondered why some people liked to call having sex "making love." To her, it had seemed far removed from love. But now that she'd experienced Davy, she saw why in a moment of epiphany. It had been such a revelation, a shock, really. His desire to please her had knocked her off her feet. No one before had ever even asked her what she liked, or didn't like. Or tried to find out. Davy, on the other hand, experimented and investigated until he found for himself what turned her on. Oh God, just his mouth on her breasts had been almost enough to take her over the edge. Davy was the one who turned her on more than any before him, and, happily, was also the one to guide her to bliss. How fortunate was that?

Davy checked out the island, noting everything he could, committing it to memory, still mystified by what could have caused that scratching noise last night, and determined to ferret out a reason for it. Once he was on a mission, it was hard to get him off course.

He stopped to empty his bladder some distance from their camp, only to look behind him, seeing Deanna, hand clamped over her mouth. It was too late to stop his stream, so he made the best of a bad situation, promptly turning his back to her.

"You must be joking! I never thought you'd follow me all the way out here. Look the other way," he added, feeling oddly exposed, even though she'd seen his equipment before, had stroked it, and he'd taken her in bed three times.

"Why are you so far out here, anyway?" she asked once he'd finished peeing and her composure had returned.

I want to sort out the mystery of the scratching in the night," his eyes gleamed as he imitated a vampire's voice.

"Not funny. I'm scared of it getting dark now."

'Oh, but you mustn't be!" Davy protested. Now he was sincere sounding. "I promised to keep you safe, and I will. It would be a drag if you didn't believe me."

"Oh, Davy, I do. You know that. It just made me nervous, that's all."

Davy was trying harder than he ever had to ignore her sex appeal. He was still worried about her thinking he only wanted sex while they were here. So he'd been keeping himself busy doing other things, because if he didn't, he'd immediately start thinking about making love to her again. He'd been fighting it all day, and his resistance was wearing thin.

"I want to go back to camp. All this walking has my legs sore, and my arms are already sore from all that rowing yesterday," she said.

"Likewise. Let's go." He threw his arm around her shoulders as they walked back.

"You don't think . . . I mean, you don't have the idea that all I want . . . is intimacy with you, do you?" Davy had to practically thrust the words out of his mouth because he had to know—he just had to.

"No. In fact, the reason I've been following you all day is because I want to be near you." That was as close as she was going to come to admitting that he wasn't the only one who wanted it. At least in the daylight. At night, it was a little easier to reveal things, because the words remained in the dark.

"Why are you still so shy?" he was feeling brave, and decided to stick his neck out and see if he could get any direct answers.

This was unexpected. But Davy seemed truly interested in getting inside her head, so she afforded him the courtesy of being as honest as she could.

"I'm not sure," she looked out at the ocean, as if it might give her a hint, an avenue of explaining to Davy how he affected her. "Maybe because I've never met a guy like you. I really am torn as to how I should act at times."

"All I want is for you to be yourself. To let go, stop worrying."

He had a point. She needed to let her hair down, seriously. It was just that he seemed too good to be true, and maybe that made her suspicious, since she'd never known another guy like him. But she wasn't as suspicious of him as she was doubtful of her ability to make him as happy as he made her. Perhaps she feared she'd do something wrong, and he'd disappear from her life. She really wasn't cut out to date a musician. She wasn't strong enough, confident enough to think she could be enough for him. Not when he'd been accustomed to having such a variety of girls available for the taking. She wanted so badly for it to work that sometimes it seemed she was sabotaging herself.

"You're different, you know, and it's why I like you so much," he had just mirrored what she'd been wondering about! "The others aren't sincere . . . or have that innocence you hold onto. You're fresh and open. You don't act artificial or put on airs. You don't tease your hair sky high and use loads of hairspray. You don't have black smudged all over your eyes, or pour on strong perfume that makes my eyes water, and you don't guess what you think I might like to hear. I like how genuine you are."

Everything he said made her spirits lift and take flight. He was trying to tell her that he liked her the way she was, but that he'd also like her to relax and chill out. Pretty simple, really. Okay, she could do that. She really could, if she set her mind to it. She could stop measuring her words every time she spoke, and act spontaneously, as he did. This wasn't the first time he'd made this kind of plea. She had to try—he was too good to forfeit because she was acting so damn frigid and uptight.

She gathered her nerve, and said something she thought would never come from her lips. But wasn't this all about taking chances, anyway? How could you get anywhere without taking chances?

"Are we going to go skinny dipping tonight?"

Davy was brought up short. Her comment was so unforeseen that he nearly gasped. "If you'd like to, I'd be honored." Davy steadied himself, yet at the same time, felt himself inflate in his swim suit. _Down boy!_ They were nearing the time when they would be comfortable around each other in just about any situation—he couldn't blow it now. They were so close that it surely wouldn't be much longer. And now she was suggesting a skinny dip . . .

Dinner that night was pork and beans and wieners over the fire, the wieners impaled on a stick since they hadn't brought anything that could be used as a skewer. Deanna washed her hot dog off with a bit of their fresh water before eating it, making Davy laugh.

"Well, sticks can be dirty!" she protested, feeling a little on the wimpy side. He opened a can of mixed vegetables with the screw –type can opener he'd brought and heated it up too. Some bread alongside made it a satisfying meal, simple, but made special because they were under the stars in Hawaii, on their own island, outdoors with the waves sloshing up on the sand only fifteen feet away.

Deanna was very hungry tonight. It was so novel, and the smell of the hot dogs and beans made her feel like she was somewhere back in the 1800s, on a prairie, cooking over a camp fire, after riding the trail all day. It sounded too goofy to tell Davy, but that was just how she felt. Watching him wrap a hot dog in a slice of bread and then eating it with his precise bites made her feel warm and squishy inside. There she was, going all romantic again. Looking forward to their swim was exciting because things were never dull with Davy-she never knew what he would do or say next. And that was why he was forever casting new spells on her. It was all brand new, yet their connection felt old as time itself.

Davy tipped the soft drink back as he finished it in one long draw. She watched his throat as he swallowed. Even this turned her on. How could a throat possibly be so sexy? It just wasn't fair.

"Tomorrow Kapena will be here, and we'll be going back with him in the canoe to call Peter," Davy reminded her.

"What time is he coming?"

"Mid-morning, he said."

"What about our camp?"

He shrugged. "We leave it here. No one's going to come steal it while we're gone. Remember, people don't ever come to this island."

Deanna felt stupid. Of course no one would steal it! Not only would they have to venture out this far, but they'd also have to have a big enough boat to fit it in. Most people used kayaks. So the mere idea was silly. She wished she hadn't opened her mouth. Sometimes she wondered if Davy thought she must be a real air head.

* * *

It was getting dark, and Davy was restless. She could tell from his mannerisms. When they finally went into the water, Davy took his swim suit off at the last moment, throwing it up onto the sand. At first she thought it a bit rude that he didn't wait for her, but she soon found out why. After taking off her own swim suit, she saw him treading carefully into the water, trying to avoid the coral, and then he began to swim. But just before, he sort of half belly flopped and half made a shallow dive because of the depth of the water. That was when she saw his erection. So_ that_ was why he hadn't waited for her!

She giggled, and began swimming, the water feeling wonderful on her naked body. The water was warmer than last night, and before she even knew what was going to occur, he was holding her as they swam. He was doing a side stroke, the opposite arm around her. She felt as if she were being romanced by a dolphin. He was so fluid in the water, so graceful.

"There's a break in the coral ahead, and if it's really calm, maybe we can swim out there just a little, after we get back from calling Peter tomorrow. But we can't go far—it's too risky."

Deanna liked the idea of deeper water, where you couldn't touch the bottom. Diving down a few feet sounded nice—this shallow water was limiting.

They did find a spot that was about four deep, and Davy decided they shouldn't venture out any further tonight. He gathered her close, their naked bodies touching tentatively under the water. Deanna felt a quaver running in her veins. His wet lips sought hers, and she sensed hopefulness, eagerness.

She did nothing but encourage him, and his response was nothing but favorable. She was aware that this was part of his extended foreplay, and was only too happy to yield to it. Better yet, give him free rein.

His fingers, then his hand, brushed against her breasts, just grazing her nipples, making her nearly go out of her head with desire. That's when he began to actively caress. His hand supported and lifted her breast from underneath, bringing it up to his lips. His mouth, lips, tongue, assaulting her all at once, her nipple extended, reaching for more of him with a life of its own.

She let her head fall back, a long, drawn out sigh streaming from her lips. The teasing tip of his tongue had her gasping, and grabbing him tighter, for fear she'd fall over, become comatose, and drown. She was a good swimmer, but with the effect he had on her, she wasn't sure she could even stand on her own. The licking became sucking, and she found herself clamping the back of his head with her hands, not being able to help herself. Her breast was forced deeper into his mouth, where the sucking became seriously strong and deep.

Davy was euphoric that she was enjoying it so. Man, he'd hit the jackpot. For a girl who seemed so innocent, she was incredibly passionate. He was unprepared though, for what came next.

Deanna felt herself shaking, vibrating all over with the rhythm of his mouth. She was jarred beyond belief when she felt an orgasm creeping up on her. That familiar tingling. . . . how was this possible? Didn't matter . . . it was happening. She was climbing, the steady pull of his mouth quietly, sweetly, urging her on.

Suddenly, she shattered. She cried out, there being no way she could keep it in. She continued to cry out as each spasm of her climax rocked her . . . and rocked Davy's world.

Davy realized what was happening a few seconds into it, and he had a hard time wrapping his mind around it. She was way past passionate—she was wild, fiery, frenzied. He'd never known a girl to climax with breast stimulation only. He was overjoyed.

It had been an extreme one, as extreme as when he'd gone down on her. His body up close to hers had barely touched her down below, and that, combined with his magic mouth, had pushed her right over the edge.

The two of them being stunned, they walked out of the water. Deanna couldn't help but look down again. That beautiful male appendage of his was hard. She'd been almost positive it would be. A sudden hunger hit her then.

She wanted to be closer to it somehow. She'd stroked it, but now she felt a powerful urge, almost a craving. Davy saw, in the light of the camp fire, where her eyes had gone, and he felt strangely proud. She seemed to be quite taken with it, interested in it. He was already amped up from witnessing her orgasm, just rip-roaring ready to make some serious love to her.

After sponging themselves with soap and fresh water and washing their hair as best they could without using the rest of their water, they remained naked and Davy made a fire as Deanna went into the tent to attend to their sleeping bags and pillows, making sure everything was in order so it would look inviting to Davy. She left the gun where it was, very near to where Davy slept.

He was beside himself, having to force himself to remain in control long enough to get the fire started. His eyes widened when he opened the flap and slipped in, seeing that she was still naked. The flashlight was in the perfect position so that it emitted only a very dim light.

She watched as he walked in, and it occurred to her that his male parts were simply beautiful. She'd always thought of that part of a guy as being something that was necessary to impregnate, but not much more. Penises had definitely not held any attraction for her until Davy had come into her life. The skin of it looked so soft and pink, yet it was hard enough under that skin to cause it to stand straight up against his belly. It was a thing of beauty; she had to admit it. And then that craving started again . . .

He closed the tent flap and sat down beside her, brushing her hair back from her shoulder with hands that fondled more than they caressed. He nuzzled his nose into her neck, making her take a deep, careless breath.

"You are really something," he murmured.

The craving was gathering impulsion, getting stronger by the second. That need to be close to his maleness. As they sat there, she kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his neck and chest, allowing suspense to build, throwing in a flick of her tongue here and there. She'd rather kiss him than take her next breath. He remained motionless, as if he were shackled with chains. His breathing became labored and ragged as she moved on to his belly. Still not knowing what she wanted, she reached that strange yet wonderful evidence of his masculinity, and ran her palm over its underside.

It quivered in its hardness, Davy's breath caught in his throat, and he shifted slightly, maybe even subconsciously, so he'd be more accessible.

_Oh my God,_ he thought.

She rubbed it against her cheek, feline-like, loving the softness of the skin of it and the hard-as-steel underneath. It felt just like it looked.

She turned to face it head-on, and it brushed against her lips. It jerked, as if it were a living thing, and she was shocked for a moment, causing her to pause. It twitched again, and a noise came from Davy's throat that she couldn't read. He had a look on his face that she'd never seen before, but she had the feeling he was suspended in the moment. His eyes were hazy. He seemed expectant, and yet not at the same time. Maybe not wanting to let himself get hopeful?

She'd heard that some girls practiced oral sex, as did Cassie, but the thought had really grossed her out. She'd never been able to imagine herself doing something like that .Now, here with Davy, it felt different. Like a polar opposite to her prior feelings, with other guys. Her mind seemed to be changing, curiosity ruling, and she couldn't stop herself from kissing the helmet shaped head. Just to see what might happen.

Davy flinched—or maybe he didn't flinch, but he certainly jolted. A moment later, a long, low moan came from him, unlike any she'd ever heard him utter before.

"Deanna," he whispered, placing his hands on the sides of her head. He didn't pull her toward him, just laid them there, and she could actually feel him shaking. She wasn't sure what was happening, but one thing was for sure—it was obvious he was enjoying the living hell out of it.

So she kissed it again. He jerked again.

"Deanna, I'm _dying_!" Then she understood. Maybe she was a slow learner, but she thought about how his mouth on her made her feel, and of course it made sense that if she were to put her mouth on him, he'd get that fantastic feeling that she'd experienced. She wanted that for him-for herself too.

Oh, to give him the kind of pleasure he'd given her! The light bulb went on in her head, and her fear evaporated. All her bad experiences melted into nothing because Davy was different.

Her tongue came out next, giving him a very tentative, quick lick. He jolted even more violently, his hips lifting, tilting upward. Next, she licked slowly, relishing the rubbery feel of it under her tongue; every ridge and vein. When she closed her mouth over the tip for a second, he groaned loudly, pitching his hips upward even more.

"Sorry, couldn't help it," his voice sounded unusual—almost like a croak.

Now she was riveted on him and this beautiful cock of his. Hungry, avid, greedy even. She wanted more. But she didn't know how. How to make him feel good, how to do it correctly.

Davy utilized everything he had in him to keep from thrusting up into her mouth. He knew she was just learning, exploring him, but the suspense and the teasing was almost too much for him to bear. He knew she wasn't_ trying _to tease him, but it was so titillating that he feared he wouldn't be able to restrain his hips from thrusting for much longer. Never did he suspect Deanna would do something like this, and especially not so soon. So his mind was not prepared for it. She was so hesitant that he wondered if he were the first one she'd done this to. The thought caused a fierce feeling of possessiveness to flood him.

She kept him in awe. Every time he made love to her, she acted as if she'd never been touched before. She was so sensitive to his touch, so responsive. And now this . . .

And now . . . and now . . . she was sucking him with a clumsy eagerness that elated him. It was becoming clearer by the second that she'd not done this before, but the thought delighted him. It was fabulous, and it was all for him. She was just a little too careful, but she'd learn in time that it wasn't necessary to be so prudent, so vigilant, so overly cautious. It just blew his mind that she wanted to do this, and he felt so honored, knowing her history with men was not positive.

"_God_ . . . Deanna," his voice reassured her that he liked what she was doing, giving her confidence. She was so stoked, and her level of lust was all the way over the top. She sucked the knob, pulled at him with her lips, then took more of him, sucked more strongly, and he felt like he was going to come apart. Through exploration, she was learning what he liked. Just as he'd done with her.

She slowed, stopped, then started again. Davy found himself caught somewhere between ecstasy and angst. Over the crest her little tongue traveled, down to the ridge to tickle it, then long, sweeping licks up and down the length of him. She gathered confidence, and this heightened her pleasure, her need for him.

_Damn! She was fucking undoing him!_

It was a good thing they weren't camping amongst others, because the people in every other tent for half a mile would have heard him.

"Ahhhhh . . . " Among other assorted sounds were ripped from his throat as she discovered that when her mouth engulfed him completely, he lost control and fell back from his sitting position onto his back, and thrashed around wildly. Pride swelled in her chest, lust fired between her legs. She was just as aroused as he was, because she felt his every muscle contract, including the one in his cock. He was such a generous lover, and now she was finding she was able to give that back. And it felt so heady that she was splendidly giddy.

His hips moved faster, and against his will, he felt the beginnings of a humungus orgasm. Prickles of his impending climax kissed his spine, swirled about, settling in his balls. She could not be frightened, so he pulled back, much as he hated to, because it felt so good, and rolled over to the edge of the sleeping bag, spilling his come into the dirt, moaning and thrusting into his hand.

Deanna watched it spurt, a greater distance that she would have thought possible. It was entrancing, irresistible, and she couldn't pull her eyes away. She knew right then, as turned on as she was, that she might someday like to taste that…

* * *

Davy's head was between her legs only minutes later.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked between gasps and moans at the feel of his feverish, ravishing mouth.

"Whatever turns you on turns me on. If it makes you feel good, it makes me feel good. And I could do it for _hours,"_ he said as he paused long enough to explain. And he spoke the truth. Hours, and maybe even days . . .

"I want you to come on my tongue, all over my face," he added wickedly, raising his head for a second.

Just those words were enough to get her more than halfway there. His attention was absolute. She didn't keep track of the time, but it couldn't have been more than three minutes before she came hard, arching her back, pushing herself into his mouth. Over and over she pitched her pelvis. Her hips continued to pump for a little longer, and she saw with astonishment that Davy was clearly ready and eager for more. But Deanna was so satiated she could barely even move.

What was this guy doing to her? She had always been so poised, so proper. Then Davy had come along and made her lose control.

She pulled him back up her body to cuddle. That was another thing he was superior at—cuddling. Davy smiled to himself. Yeah, he'd wanted to spend hours, _days _on her, feeling he'd never get enough.

He was about to reach over and turn out the flashlight when he stilled, sitting there like a statue.

"What is it?" asked Deanna.

"Listen," he said quietly.

There it was . . . the scratching sound was back . . .


	16. Chapter 16

Holy crap! Not again! Deanna was scared, annoyed and upset, and she wasn't sure which emotion predominated. She watched as Davy, gun and flashlight in hand, stormed out of the tent for the second night in a row, his features wrapped in resolve and grit.

Same thing all over again. He was back in a few minutes, a look of vexation and dismay on his face.

"I can't find a damn thing," he grumbled. By now, the scratching had stopped—just like last night.

"Well, so far it hasn't killed us," offered Deanna, half-heartedly joking. "If it _were _something to worry about—like a big animal that smells the food, it wouldn't give up and go away, would it?" she asked.

"Nope," he confirmed with a solid negative shake of his head. "It would be adamant, and not let us get in its way until it got to the food. So this isn't consistent at all with a large, dangerous animal. But yeah, it's disconcerting to know something is out there . . .although it's probably completely harmless. I just don't like feeling clueless. But we'll unravel this stumper eventually, don't worry."

He laid back down with her, and she thought about how he'd gone out there naked, his unusual spirit fueling him with tenacity way beyond what she had ever known existed before she'd met him.

And right now he was comforting, consoling. His hands in her hair, pulling her head into his chest, his heart beating steadily under her ear.

His mind was at war with his desire to be open and impromptu. He knew it was there—the very real likelihood that she'd accept him being plain-spoken with her. Communicating with her in complete honesty and openness was something he found alluring. Should he take the chance? Talk to her about his enormous, unquenchable passion for her? Would she understand? He was feeling courageous tonight. Even a tad outrageous. Might as well cut that occasional audacious tendency loose while he still had the nerve.

"Don't get mad at me," he said after a few reflective moments, "but I find myself wanting to make love to you on a continual basis. And I hope you know that's meant as tremendous praise for you."

Taken aback, yet not able to resist feeling flattered, she was gratified, and even aroused that he was talking to her with so much candor.

"Tell me more about those thoughts," she snuggled closer still, even though she was nearly on top of him.

Davy considered what he'd been thinking about, and just how much he really wanted to admit to. Also, did she really want to hear it? She might feel she'd bitten off more than she could chew by dating him. She'd almost certainly get a whole lot more than she'd bargained for.

"Will it bother you if I say something . . . erotic?" he was pushing it, he knew, but the curiosity, the temptation to discover just how much sensuality she was capable of was calling to him, had been nagging at him for what seemed an infinity.

"Um . . . you are always in good taste, Davy."

"Well, this might not be considered in good taste," he warned her. "Well, I _know _it wouldn't be in mixed company. But with just you and me . . . I'm not sure." He was feeling like kicking himself more every passing moment, because now he couldn't turn back.

"I promise I won't get upset."

"You sure? It's pretty . . . frank."

Now she _had_ to hear what was on his mind. Her inquisitive nature would not allow her to let him off the hook. And that was just what he'd been aiming for-originally, in order to force himself to reveal his thoughts, although now he was second guessing himself.

"I'm sure."

"Okay." His cheek was against hers, and he kissed her neck on and off as he talked, his lips sweeping, searching for her sensitive spots, as he hoped for the right response from her.

"I find myself wanting to fuck you for an entire day. Staying inside you, never pulling out, resting until I get hard again, and then doing it again. Over and over."

The rasp of her breath being gulped in sharply put him on full alert. He quite expected her to jump up, perhaps smack him hard on the cheek, and rush out of the tent, so he was poised to jump up and grab her before she could run out into the night. And then he would never say words like that to her again, hoping she would someday forgive him. But something deep inside told him she was a hell of a lot more woman than she let on—that she just kept her passionate nature suppressed. And that had him dying to find out more . . .

Instead of jumping up and slapping him, her breath hitched yet again, and she held it for a few tension filled seconds, then cuddled close, molding her body to his, causing his cock to start to rouse again.

"You naughty, naughty boy," she scolded. "David Thomas Jones . . . I'd never know it to look at you, but you're wild." And he took note of how heavy her breathing had become in the last few seconds.

"What do you think of it though?"

A moment of ghostly silence, then she said softly, "Well, I feel as you do . . . in mixed company, no. But being alone together like this— the way you say it . . . it's so sexy. You say it in such a sultry way, but the loving, sweet tone is what really gets to me. The mixture of naughty and nice in you has me, well, _steaming._ Maybe it's the fact that you look so sweet and innocent, but there's this incredibly sensuous side underneath."

_Exactly what he'd been thinking about her. _

Davy looked assuaged, and she could sense he'd been very hesitant to follow through. "I've fantasized about that," he said. "Having our own secrets."

She thought about the heated looks they often shared.

"It works. At least for me it does," she let her voice transition into flirtatiousness.

"Well, that's all that matters then, doesn't it?"

That was another direct hint he was sending to her about how he felt. It wasn't lost on her. She, however, wasn't sure how to respond.

"My opinion on the way you talk to me is all that matters?" She had to be sure she understood him.

"Your opinion is all that matters to me,_ period_."

She hoped he wasn't saying that lightly, because, much as she was afraid to, she was taking it to heart. Or rather, she _wanted _to take it to heart. He might be acting devoted to her now, but was she being foolish by hoping it would last? That he would still mean it a week from now? A month from now? A year? The rest of their lives?

_There she went again, taking a quote from him that seemed to be perfectly sincere, and looking at it negatively!_

She could hardly believe she was thinking of him in terms of the rest of their lives. She had it even worse than she'd thought. He turned her inside out. Hooked on Davy, to the point of not even wanting to glance at another guy. When had it all happened? Had it sneaked up on her, or had she known it clear back from the library days? Perhaps that was why he had made her so agitated at the library when he'd stared at her.

_The rest of their lives. Those words sounded so sweet in her mind, and would taste even sweeter on her tongue, if only she could say them out loud._

She gave herself a severe mental shake. If he ended up hurting her, it would sting, or rather, to be honest, it would devastate her, but she also knew she couldn't go through life holding a shield up, because then she wouldn't be truly living. She was still reminding herself of that—ever since Davy had said he wanted her to relax and stop being so uptight.

Going to sleep that night, his warm body wrapped around her, her last thoughts were about the lusty words he had used, and she felt her core clench, knowing there was a lot more passion to come.

* * *

The following morning, her damn nipples betrayed her. They perked up the moment she saw him, shirtless, as he was most of the time here, stacking the wood. But there was no time to even think about making love. Even though Davy dominated her thoughts all of the time, Kapena was coming this morning, and she had to be ready. She doubted somehow that Kapena would wait for them. He was very serious about his job, and no wonder, as it was how he made his living. For him, time was money.

She whipped her pad of paper out of her suitcase along with her pen, and scribbled a few thoughts on it. Davy inspired her as far as her writing went. In a whole lot of other ways too, now that she thought about it. There was an overflow of inspiration on this island. The writer in her blossomed along with the hibiscus in this tropical atmosphere with her beautiful, dark eyed lover, and she wrote as she'd never written before. She had incentive now to be as creative as she pleased. Her heart dictated to her—she had only to write it down.

Kapana arrived in his canoe at about ten, just as Deanna and Davy finished eating their breakfast of canned corned beef hash and packaged muffins. Davy had put all their belongings and their supplies into the tent in case of rain. Now he closed the flap, taking Deanna's hand, and they settled into the canoe.

Once back in Maui, they called Peter first. He had been able to book a flight that was four days away. The blond bassist was ready to burst, so electrified was he from the notion of actually going to Hawaii. Davy had a job of it just to get him off the phone after half an hour of Peter's excited ramblings. Afterward, Deanna called her mother. Telling her she'd be staying in Hawaii an extra two weeks was touchy, as Charlene's natural initial reaction was to try to discourage her daughter. Deanna had to put up a stouthearted stand, telling her mother firmly that she was a big girl, and nothing bad had happened, or would happen. That she and Davy were being responsible and careful. She meant about their safety, but of course, it could be taken other ways. Charlene really could find no argument for that, but then started harping about Deanna missing college and work. Deanna reminded her that Davy was paying for everything, that she was a month ahead on her rent, and she gave her mother her solemn word that she'd finish the work she'd missed at college in September, maybe take some additional classes too, and that she was in no danger of losing her job.

Charlene finally surrendered and waved a white flag. "I just worry about you, honey. I'm sorry. I really don't want to ruin your fun. Stay safe. Call me, _please,_ if for any reason you need me."

"I will mom. And I love you and think of you every day," which was the truth. Charlene had tactfully not asked about their sleeping arrangements, and Deanna knew she'd be beside herself if she knew they were sharing a tent on a deserted island, much less a hotel room. A few teardrops fell on both ends when they hung up, with Deanna reassuring Charlene she'd call again in a few days- realizing It would have to be in four days, as that was when they would be going back to Maui to pick up Peter.

Derrick was the one who really made her feel some self-reproach. He was unusually outspoken, probably having decided he needed to let her know how he felt before she became hopelessly entangled with Davy. But little did he know it was far too late for that.

"I really wanted to ask you out on a date a long time ago, but didn't have the . . . nerve," he said. "I waited too long . . . and now you're with him, on vacation . . ."

"Derrick," she decided she had to be brutally honest at this point. It was either that, or hurt him even more when she returned, and he saw what had developed between herself and Davy. Hiding it would not be possible.

"I'm afraid . . . my heart already belongs to Davy. I even denied it to myself until recently. Now I can't deny it anymore. Not with you, especially. But you do know, I hope, how much I think of our friendship. I don't want that to end."

Derrick remained silent for a few moments. "I figured as much," he said softly. "I waited too long," he repeated his prior words, but more slowly, and clearly with regret.

"He swept me off my feet. You're a super nice guy . . . just not the one for me," she felt her heart rip a little bit with each word. But she couldn't let him go on thinking that some day she might possibly feel the same way he did. That would never happen, even if Davy hadn't come into her life.

"I know, I understand. Are you having fun? Seeing a lot?" he was trying valiantly to remain in control of his emotions.

"Oh, it's so beautiful here, Derrick! And we're camping on Molokai! We just came into Maui to call you, my mom, Davy's friends and Cassie today. We're going back tomorrow. We've been camping there for two days. We have supplies, and I love being so close to nature and all the beauty here. The sand is golden, and the water is so blue and crystal clear, you can look right down into it." She told him of all the enchanting sea creatures they had seen.

Derrick listened, and pictured what she described, but he also wished he could be sharing it with her instead of that hotshot musician with the cute, baby face, who probably had dozens of girls' phone numbers in his little black book that Deanna didn't know about. He didn't want Deanna to become a just a number too. She was too nice of a girl for that. He didn't want the guy using Deanna. But he also knew he'd be pushing it to warn Deanna about musicians. She would only become resentful, and he'd succeed only in pushing her away. Nonetheless, he tried hard to sound happy for Deanna, and when they hung up, he knew that he at least had a friend for life . . . and he reminded himself that Davy had also treated him decently, even after he'd punched him. He had to give the guy that much. Credit where credit was due. . . .

Cassie was just as demanding as usual. She wanted to know all about the shops, what Deanna had worn when they'd gone to dinner, and was equally fascinated and repelled with the idea of camping on Molokai.

"Sounds romantic to a point, but I'd want a motor home where I could take a shower," she said disdainfully. "That's _my _idea of camping."

"Oh, we can wash. We take baths with the fresh water," explained Deanna.

"Not the same as a shower," countered Cassie. "But to each his own. I know being with him is foremost in your mind."

Yep, sounded like Cassie had an idea how badly Deanna was taken with Davy. If anyone knew Deanna from top to bottom, it was Cassie.

"Let's have a good, proper meal," suggested Davy was soon as they finished their calls. "The cooking on Molokai isn't that fancy."

They had a wonderful meal, and stayed overnight at the hotel where they'd spent the first night here, since Kapena was busy the rest of the day, saying he would be back for them at nine tomorrow morning. The first thing they did was to take a shower. Not having to scrimp on the water felt almost sinful. Davy soaped her and she soaped him—oh, it was so luxurious; and before she knew it, they were both ready for some more loving. His cock stood upright and proud when she'd washed it, and they had both laughed because it had a mind of its own, and it was _very _opinionated. So they made love in the shower, with Deanna's legs wrapped around Davy's waist, their bodies pounding up against the shower wall; maybe they were just a little bit on the zealous side. Yeah, understatement.

Later, they laid out by the pool, Davy talking to her about how eager he was to get back to Molokai. The thought that he liked being alone with her so much made a lump form in her throat. There were a few minutes of silence, which didn't happen often with Davy, so she looked over at him, and he was sound asleep. Poor guy. He'd probably stayed awake for most of the last two nights because of that scratching sound, but had not said a word to her.

He looked so incredibly perfect and completely innocent when asleep. She could not stop staring. When he woke two and a half hours later, he looked disoriented for a moment.

"It's okay. You were dead tired and slept. And yes, it wasn't a dream. We're really in Hawaii," she teased.

He smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you like that."

"I told you it's okay," she insisted as he rolled onto his back and stretched his arms over his head with a mighty effort to wake up and clear the fog from his brain. Deanna reached over and tickled him under his arm. He snatched his arms back down.

"Now you're gonna get it . . . later," he said cryptically, raising his eyebrows in that devious way of his. "And by the way, your voice carried because I was downwind when you were speaking to Derrick."

She stiffened, not moving a muscle, trying to recall all that she'd said to Derrick. _Oh God._ Panic and embarrassment both seized her. Davy now knew that her heart belonged to him! She'd said it in plain English. There could be no misinterpreting it. That was the pivotal statement that Davy was referring to, no doubt. It was all Davy needed to hear, because it told the whole story. It was just as well, because she seriously doubted at this point that her feelings would change.

She just stared at him, not knowing if she'd be able to say a single word, even if she tried. She did try, but her mouth wouldn't work.

"So . . . it sounds suspiciously to me like we are feeling the same about each other," he uttered, his voice as smooth as custard.

Deanna's heart fluttered. "I'm so glad I'm not alone in this," she managed to say without choking.

* * *

They slept well that night, especially Davy, who, by now, was quite sleep deprived. He woke feeling very much refreshed. She had gone to the bathroom and returned naked, yet wearing light make-up and with her hair combed. He laughed about it. She blushed.

"At least I can use my curling iron today. We have electricity!" she chortled.

"Curling iron? Is that what you call them? We call them tongs in England."

"Would you like a coffee?" he asked, toying with the coffee machine in their room.

"'A' coffee?" she was amused. "We just call it 'coffee' without an 'a' in the beginning."

"Sometimes I'm surprised we can even have a conversation," laughed Davy.

Remembering the shower they'd taken together last night, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her cheeks red and hot.

He knew without having to ask, what she was thinking about. Considering how many times they'd made love, it was hard to believe she was still acting so shy at times. But then, this was Deanna. He was getting used to it. He found it attractive because she wasn't putting on an act. She was being herself. She wasn't the overbearing type he was so used to.

When he got up to go to the bathroom and returned wearing a wily look on his face, he by-passed the bed and picked up a flower from the floor in the corner—a red and white pin-striped plumeria.

She was flabbergasted.

"When do you collect these flowers, and how do you keep me from seeing them, sweet butt?" she asked. "Or should I say candy ass?"

Davy practically roared with laughter.

"Here I present you with a flower, and you call me a candy ass!"

"I'm afraid it's my loving little nickname for you now," she confessed.

"Come on, let's go to breakfast before Kapena gets here. We'll have to remind him we'll be coming back with him on the day Peter flies in. Don't let me forget."

The thought of Peter's arrival getting closer made Deanna feel a little jittery—almost as if she shouldn't have suggested it. She hadn't been around Peter more than a few times, and hardly knew him. What if he became bored while he was here? What if he wanted to do something in particular, but didn't bring it up for fear Davy and Deanna wouldn't want to? What if he wanted to party every night? There she went again—worrying. So many questions, and she felt a responsibility for Peter enjoying his vacation. Davy however, either wasn't concerned at all about it, or he just didn't mention it.

They had a huge breakfast, aware that they'd be subsisting on packaged and canned foods again until they came back with Kapena. They'd offered to get their own supplies when Kapena had dropped them off, but he had refused, saying he would have the list of things Davy had written ready and in his canoe by the time they would be leaving.

At nine, they were at the designated area, and Kapena arrived within minutes. Everything was neatly loaded. All the canned and packaged goods, coffee, napkins, paper plates and cups, water, plenty of matches, and, to Deanna's great relief, toilet paper. She would have died of shame if she'd had to mention to Davy that they'd have to detain Kapena long enough to go buy the toilet paper, and as embarrassing as that would be, she was_ not_ going to be without it. She saw something else too that Kapena had added, but no way was she going to mention_ that_ to Davy. Not today, and probably not later either.

They only had a couple changes of clothes left that were clean. They hadn't had time to wash the clothes they'd worn in Molokai, so made a mental note to be sure to remember to do it when they came back to pick Peter up from the airport. The laundry wouldn't be on the top of their list, but they had only brought a few changes of clothes, so it couldn't be avoided. Most of the time on Molokai they had worn their swim suits anyway. Those could be hand washed with their fresh water. Their water had held out well, so they now had an idea of how much water they would be using daily. There was plenty for drinking water, as they had to stay well hydrated in this heat and humidity, and to bathe and wash their hair if they were careful and not wasteful.

* * *

They were eager for a swim that night. It was so pleasant, especially taking into consideration the fact that Deanna's arms were sore again from the solid hour of rowing. Even though Davy had massaged her arms when they got back, she felt she really needed the relaxation of the feel of the soothing water on her sore body. From now on, announced Davy, there would be no more swim suits allowed. He said it with a playful chuckle, and she practically dragged him out to the water, noticing he didn't try to hide his erection this time.

"We can swim naked in the daytime too. It's not as if anyone is going to see us," and his point was well taken. Talking about sensitive subjects was aiding Deanna in learning to be less inhibited around him. They became closer that day than any before, exploring each others' minds, delving into each others' pasts.

Davy was more at ease with her all the time, as she didn't judge him or get upset with him about anything when he confided in her. They talked more at length and in depth about his passion for music, and her equal passion about becoming an author. Before night fell, it seemed they had spilled all their hopes and dreams to each other. Both wanted kids, pets and regular "date nights" with their eventual spouse so things would not become routine and boring. Of course, they didn't talk about the two of them marrying, but both were pleasantly surprised that they wanted most of the same things in life.

Her skin had burned a little when they had first arrived, but was now showing the beginnings of a nice tan. The smell of cocoa butter as he smoothed it on her, the mere touch of his hands alarmingly arousing, then the zinc oxide on her nose were so much a reminder of lazy summer days on the beach at Malibu, as cocoa butter and zinc oxide were staples on the beaches in the sixties. Just the smell of the cocoa butter and the sight of white noses instantly made her think of the beach as it did for just about everyone of their generation. Yes, cocoa butter and the beach were synonymous. The best part right now was they had this beach all to themselves.

Davy didn't need any zinc oxide on his nose, and his skin was naturally compatible with tanning. His nose didn't burn, and surprisingly, when he walked around naked in the daytime, his vulnerable areas normally covered by a swim suit also tanned easily, with no initial burning. He did admit to Deanna that he'd sun bathed naked at home in Malibu when there weren't people around. She didn't see how that was possible, as Malibu always seemed to have at least some people around. That was when he told her he would sometimes find a secluded area and then remove his swim trunks. He even admitted he would sometimes pleasure himself as he lay on a rock or the sand. He mentioned this tentatively, because even though they were getting closer by the minute, he still harbored a remaining tiny thread of fear that he might offend her. But the mental image this brought instead had Deanna panting and practically sweating.

"People like to mimic me singing 'I Wanna Be Free' in a light-hearted way, but they don't realize it's what I genuinely want. It runs deep. And being here on this island with you is my idea of freedom, along with singing, or riding a horse as fast as the wind."

* * *

As they swam that night, Deanna headed toward the break in the coral where they'd been the last time they'd gone swimming, and she went a bit farther out. Davy wasn't far from her, and called out a warning for her not to go any farther, as the current could be deceptively strong. It could gently coax you out with its own kind of cunning stealth. It was so insidious that you would find yourself drifting out to sea almost before you knew it. She was well aware of it, as he'd already explained it and warned her, but going out just a_ little_ bit further didn't seem like it would do any harm.

Suddenly, she noticed she was farther away than she had been hardly a minute before, yet she hadn't felt any obvious flow or pull on her body. At first, she calmly began to swim back to where she had been, since she could no longer touch bottom, but it didn't work that way. Her body kept drifting, even though she was swimming actively. The tension started to rise, then apprehension, and then panic built quickly when she found herself even further out in seemingly no time at all.

She was just about to yell for Davy when his voice came out of the dark, and it didn't sound as close as it should have.

"Deanna! Where are you?"

"I'm here! I seem to be unable to get back. The current must be pulling me." He heard the barely suppressed panic in her voice, and knew she was in immediate trouble. He'd observed her, and knew she was a strong swimmer, so she'd obviously gone out a little too far. Something he'd expressly warned her against. His slight annoyance quickly turned to concern, and then to anxiety.

"Don't fight it. Just try to wait for me as best you can," he called out.

Deanna could now feel the pull against her legs, and knew it wouldn't take long for her to be carried out to sea if Davy didn't reach her quickly.

He instructed her to keep calling out to him every few seconds, so she kept it up religiously, like a mantra, his name leaving her lips repetitively.

She could hear him swimming, but it didn't sound stable—almost as if he were also being drawn into the current, and also away from her.

There was little rhythm to his stroke as Davy struggled to get to Deanna. The current was causing him to swim clumsily and with a lot less control than he liked. He had to fight the current to get to her. He_ had_ to get to her soon though, or he might lose her out here in the dark, and then she'd be lost out at sea . . . and he didn't want to think about the rest.

Farther and farther both of them digressed from the original area where the coral was broken, and Davy, who was normally capable in just about any emergency, began to feel real fear rise from his abdomen to his chest, and then his throat. No matter what happened, he would not give up. If she ended up disappearing out there in the dark waters, so would he. He would not even attempt to get himself back ashore without her—he would not leave her, period. The conviction was so strong within him that he felt it down to the soles of his feet. He would rather die out at sea than to go on without her. That brought him to a place where realization hit hard and deep. He'd never felt anything close to this about a woman before. Ever.

They continued to yell back and forth at each other, but Deanna began to despair when she realized his voice was sounding further and further away. She was getting tired too. Tired of trying not to drift anymore. Even staying in one place was so much of an effort that it was wearing her out. And she knew she really wasn't staying in one place anyway. She had to admit that not even the indomitable Davy could save her . . . He was not more powerful than the sea. And that same unforgiving sea was going to claim her.

Her arms, already fatigued by the rowing that day, just had nothing left in them. They felt like flotsam or seaweed, boneless, completely useless. Besides, she no longer knew which way would lead her to shore. She was completely disoriented.

Suddenly, something nudged her leg. Oh God, she hadn't thought about that—a shark! Were there sharks in these waters, beyond the corals? It was bad enough to drown at sea, but to be eaten alive by a shark had to be worse. She steeled herself for the inevitable bite that would be the beginning of the end . . . then she noticed the thing touching her leg was hairy. Sharks were not hairy. Davy's leg? Could it possibly be? A hand emerged from the dark and clasped her arm, and she realized that the impossible had happened. Davy had found her. Hope sprang to life inside her. She should have known he would overcome the odds. It seemed to be the story of his life.

They were still by far not out of danger though. Davy knew they could still both drown if he couldn't get them through the current and back to shore. It was going to be a major struggle, and that was to say the least.

"Davy!" her voice sounded small and frail. She could barely make out his face in the darkness. That sober, solemn, yet optimistic, in control look set in his expression told her he was not giving in to despondency. The guy managed to not look rattled, even in this situation. How did he pull it off?

"Hang onto me," he said as his arm closed around her waist. There wasn't much to hang onto, as he was naked. Just slippery, wet man. So he did basically all of the holding. How he swam and still hung onto her waist had her confounded, but he was determined, and she felt it in the purposefulness of his single-minded stout-heartedness. His strokes with his free hand were steady and sure.

Davy began swimming with the current, yet slightly inward, toward shore. He didn't fight the current, just tweaked his course so he was swimming at a slight angle. He basically let the current carry them. He knew that if he didn't, it would not take long for him to become fatigued, and exhaustion would soon follow. He knew he had to keep a cool head, even though panic tried to weasel its way in at every stroke.

Deanna felt like there was no way they'd make it. At one point she almost gave up. She was just so very tired . . . it would be so much easier to just give in. But when her head unexpectedly went under for a second, and she took on a gulp of water, it dawned on her that she was perilously close to giving up and drowning. She coughed and choked, alarming Davy, who pleaded with her with what little breath he had, to hang on. And she did. It was the least she could do when he was putting everything he had into saving them.

It took a long time before he realized they were nearer to the shore than they'd been when he'd found Deanna. So he continued on, even though he could scarcely feel his arms anymore. His muscles were so fatigued, he was nearly numb. He kept swimming even with virtually no feeling left in his limbs. The only thing that kept him going was Deanna, and that he had to get her to safety. Ever closer they came to the shore, and Davy was just about out of steam altogether, although he knew he'd fight to the end. He'd do it for Deanna if not for himself. When they finally reached shallow water, they swam to shore to avoid the sharp coral, even though there was almost nothing left in Davy.

They dragged themselves onto the beach and lay there in the sand for a full ten minutes, Davy's arms enclosing Deanna possessively, his breathing so labored she feared his lungs might burst. She could hardly believe they were both alive, and had reached shore.

When they stood up, it was a struggle. Davy helped her to her feet, and thanked God that he'd kept himself in shape. It had surely saved their lives. They didn't talk. They couldn't. They were too overcome with exhaustion. They just trudged on through the sand, hand in hand for an eternity until they got back to camp, which Davy later estimated was about two miles.

As soon as they got to the tent, they went inside and Davy literally collapsed on the sleeping bags. Deanna, while exhausted herself, but not nearly as wrung out as Davy, went out and stoked the fire so it would keep them warm, and then she dried Davy and herself and put blankets over them. She was shivering, as the night air, and being wet and naked had chilled her to the bone. She was glad they were in Hawaii, and it wasn't cold at night.

She was in awe at how the confidence had oozed liberally from him out there in the ocean, and didn't know how she would ever sufficiently thank him for saving her life. She would never have been able to save herself.

He didn't need to scold her. She fully knew what a foolish move she'd made, and he realized it. So he silently held her as they lay on their sides, and rubbed her back until she stopped shivering.

At first Davy was still not able to talk, he was so dog-tired. But when he was finally able to push words from his mouth, he said something that Deanna would have least expected.

"After tonight," he began, "I know I have to tell you what I've been wanting to say for days. I realize now more than ever that we never know when our last day will be. And tonight really drove that home for me. So I'll tell you this now, because I need to get real. I've been falling for you steadily since the first time I met you; the first time I saw you in the library, really, and for the entire time we've known each other. It's growing stronger by the day. I think I'm in love with you, Deanna."


	17. Chapter 17

_It had been a dream. It couldn't have been real. Of course it wasn't real. Davy had told her that he loved her, but it was too good to be real. It definitely had to have been a dream._

Deanna groaned as she tried to roll over. She hurt . . . she hurt all over, tremendously. The sun was dazzling—it streamed in through the open flap of the tent. For a brief moment, she wondered if something were mortally wrong with her, and then she remembered last night, and how she and Davy had almost perished at sea. The thought was ghastly, even now, in the light of the morning sun. Even so, the memory of him declaring his love eclipsed it.

_It hadn't been a dream._

She spied Davy getting ready to go outside to get their coffee ready. He was gingerly stretching his legs and arms. Lord, he must be ten times more sore than she was! He'd hauled them _both_ to the shore. God bless him.

"Davy, let me do that!" She barely managed to get up without screaming in pain, intending to tend to the coffee herself. He brushed her cheek tenderly with his fingertips.

"Why are you so sore?" his eyes were teasing. "Did our lovemaking last night get too vigorous?"

"We didn't make love last night!" she protested, a ghost of a smile teasing her lips. "But if only we hadn't been so tired . . . " she couldn't help entertaining the thought for a moment, purposely allowing it to be transparent, and knowing, from the yearning look in his eyes that he wanted her.

"On a more serious note, we only have four more days before Peter gets here, and you know what that means. Goodbye to Molokai. We'd better lose this soreness pretty quickly," his tone held an impish promise.

"How can you even think thoughts like that when it even hurts to breathe?" She was secretly elated, knowing he was making an insinuation about lovemaking. And no matter how sore he was, his engaging smile was still there.

"It's always on my mind."

"Davy . . . Davy, look at me," she asked as he flexed one of his calves. He looked up to see the earnest look in her eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for saving my life last night." Their eyes fastened to each other, something that always flustered her in a very lovely, breathless way.

He looked disconcerted, not accustomed to praise on that level. "I just did what I had to do," he said simply. "Gee, I wish we had some Ben Gay."

She laughed. He always had some imaginative comeback, and she also knew he was trying to get her off the subject. He was feeling some level of discomfort. Not just physically, but also from the reverence she'd shown him.

"Oh, that reminds me," he added. "I had Kapena get some . . . some lady products for you. I didn't know if you had any." His cheeks flamed, a rare event.

Deanna blushed too, hard as she fought against it. "I saw, when we got into the canoe. That was very thoughtful of you." In no way did she feel comfortable talking about this with him. She'd already brought pads, but for him to even think of that himself amazed her. What guy did that?

"I hope you don't think it was too . . ." he couldn't find the words. At a loss, he sighed.

"No, don't worry. You're just so . . . different from any guy I've dated."

Good," and his eyes were lit up with those brilliant sparkles that still mesmerized her. "I wouldn't want to be like anyone else," he quickly explained, the playful glimmer remaining.

"Well, believe me, you're not!" she meant that in more than a couple of ways.

"I need to confess something," he said a minute later.

"Please, no more surprises. We've had more than our share lately," she begged, referring mainly to last night's near-death escapade.

"It's no big deal. But I asked Cassie about . . . about, um . . . birth control. She said you were on the pill. I'm sorry I didn't ask you, but I didn't think it appropriate, because . . . well, we hadn't even gotten close to making love yet. But I did want you to know, now, that I'm not irresponsible in that way."

Deanna had trouble believing her ears. He'd really done that? For God's sake, he was the most gutsy guy she'd ever known. Asking her girlfriend if she were on birth control? Really?

He went on. "And I didn't want to ruin our first time by . . . bringing it up."

She hugged him impulsively, linking her arms around his neck, and causing them both to wince from the pain of the soreness in their muscles.

"You never stop being full of surprises. I wondered why you hadn't said anything. I didn't really think you wanted me getting pregnant though," she said, smiling into his eyes without looking away in shyness, something that was getting easier to do.

"Well, maybe some day? For now though, I was glad to hear you were protected, and I wouldn't have to spoil . . . the chance of spontaneous romance."

A brief silence while Deanna digested this. _Maybe some day,_ he'd said.

"When did you ask Cassie about it, and how did you ever find the nerve?"

"At the gig she came to. I asked her when you went to the restroom. You have no idea—I was so freaked out asking someone I'd just met if her friend was on birth control. But you know, she made it so easy. I got the idea she's a free spirit. She was totally supportive. She told me what I needed to know, and then winked at me! I knew she wasn't flirting, but that she wanted it to happen between us. It was a really good vibe."

"Wow. You are really intrepid, aren't you? And yeah, Cassie is pretty open about that kind of thing. Not much embarrasses her. And she really likes you. She encouraged me to go to Hawaii with you _very _strongly."

"Well, it's a good thing, because if she had been shy like you, I wouldn't have gotten a thing outta her."

"You're probably right. If another guy had asked me that about a friend of mine, I would have told him to go ask her himself if he wanted to know. I wouldn't have been very cordial about it either. Cassie is different than me in that way. She's more forgiving and open. She didn't even tell me you'd asked. I think she was making it her mission to see us together, because she was always encouraging me to "get it on" with you." Deanna laughed, relieved she could share this with Davy.

His lazy smile made her mind start to wander in a very good direction. "I don't think we should do much today," suggested Davy. "We need to get our strength back. What do you want for breakfast?" As if he had a gourmet menu in front of him from which to choose.

"Eggs Benedict, please."

"Sorry, no eggs."

"We can heat some water and have oatmeal," she offered.

He made a face. "Oatmeal just doesn't seem to be the right kind of breakfast after last night." He wasn't talking about their near-disaster, she was sure. The way his eyes hooked hers and wouldn't let go told her he was thinking of the words he'd said for the first time.

"Well, we can't have corn flakes-no milk. Hey, I know! Coconut milk! Do you think I can get a coconut from one of those trees we saw, and have that with the corn flakes?" he asked. "I bet it would taste really good."

"You actually brought corn flakes?" she was astonished. A box of corn flakes took up a lot more space than a box of individually packaged servings of oatmeal. How had she missed it?

"Yep. Kapena suggested the coconut milk when I mentioned having to eat them with water, so actually he's the one who deserves the credit on that."

"Groady. I don't think I'd like them at all with water," Deanna made a disgusted face of her own. "But how will you climb a coconut tree, being as sore as you are? And you just said we shouldn't do much today because we need to recover."

"If I get lucky, I might not have to climb terribly high to get one, you know."

"Those things are up to one hundred feet tall! You are _not_ climbing that high!"

"I saw some dwarf ones. They only grow to a third the size of the others. That would be easy for me to climb. I can show you where they are."

So the two of them had coffee and then headed behind their camp site, walking slowly and carefully as every tendon, ligament, and muscle in their bodies cried out in protest.

There they were, thirty foot tall dwarf coconut trees. As she watched, he picked one that looked like the fruit might be ripe, and then went up. How his overtaxed muscles would permit it, she had no idea, but he did manage to knock down three coconuts. She had noticed how much more slowly he climbed than the last time he'd tackled a tree on Maui.

They took the coconuts back to the tent, and Davy showed her how to peel the skin, which he explained was called the bast off them before he cracked them with a hammer he'd brought.

"I thought it would take rocks," she said in awe.

"No, if you do it the right way, a hammer is sufficient. I just hope they're mature," he said as he tasted the fruit from the first one he opened, being careful not to spill the juice. "Not quite all the way ripe, but close enough," he then poured the juice over her cornflakes in a paper bowl, took a second coconut and did the same with his own bowl.

"We can have the fruit with breakfast if you want, but you may not like it not fully ripe. They aren't as flavorful. And you can't eat too much of unripe fruit. It'll give you a tummy ache."

The corn flakes actually weren't bad at all with the coconut juice-just sweeter than milk, and that took a little getting used to. They ate a small amount of the meat of the fruit and threw the rest into their large garbage bag that Davy had rolled down tightly at the top, making it round and less likely to fall over. They referred to it as their trash can. Davy told Deanna he had called it rubbish when he'd first arrived from England, and how the other boys had laughed, and then set him straight. In America, and especially the west coast, it was called either trash or garbage. They also laughed about the difference between the pronunciations of garage in England and America, how a pullover sweater in America is called a jumper in England, how "lobbing" something was to discard it in England. How a stove top in America was a hob in England, and how knackered meant tired. All the same language, but explanations were often needed.

They found a few sea urchins by just peering down into the water, and a dolphin surprised them that was present for only a few minutes before going back out to sea, beyond the coral. They had both gasped in delight. They also saw a Raccoon Butterfly fish with its bright yellow and black body and the raccoon marked face of bold, distinct black and white. There were a number of species Davy couldn't identify because he had only done so much reading regarding sea life here.

"You know something? I didn't hear the scratching sound last night," Davy brought up later as they searched for seashells along the shore.

"Neither did I, but I don't think either of us would have heard it anyway—we were so exhausted."

"It was right daft, it was. I would almost think it had been my imagination if you hadn't heard it too," he said.

* * *

Later, she sat between Davy's legs with her back to him as he kneaded her shoulders and upper arms They'd had canned beef stew and rolls for dinner, and she felt satisfied and comforted by a full stomach and the fire's warmth. And most of all, Davy's presence. Davy began to sing softly.

"_I can tell by your face_

_That you're looking to find a place_

_To settle your mind_

_And reveal who you are_

_And you shouldn't be shy_

_For I'm not gonna try_

_To hurt you or heal you or steal your star_

_Open your eyes_

_Get off your chair_

_There's so much to do in the sunlight_

_Give up your secrets_

_Let down your hair_

_And sit with me here by the firelight_

_Why think all about_

_Who's gonna win out_

_We'll make up our story as we go along_

_There's so little time_

_For us to try to rhyme_

_And so many highways to travel upon_

_Open your eyes_

_Get up off your chair_

_There's so much to do in the sunlight_

_Give up your secrets_

_Let down your hair_

_And sit with me here by the firelight._

"That's beautiful," Deanna said. His voice was her definition of angelic.

"Yes, and did you notice it expresses my feelings about us, and your outlook, your state of mind?"

"Yes, I was thinking about how accurately it fits us and our situation. Is it one of your songs? The Monkees?"

"Yeah. Micky sings it."

As she turned in his lap, they kissed. The long, slow kind that Davy was so accomplished at. Teasing, tempting, tantalizing. The kind that went on until she wished it could somehow be eternal.

"I get an extraordinary amount of satisfaction from kissing you. It's almost like having an orgasm, and wanting two or three more when I'm finished," he said afterward.

Those words were at once so loving and erotic. "I think that has to be one of the most sensual things I've ever heard," she murmured into his chest. He burrowed his hands into her hair and laid his chin on top of her head. He watched the flames flicker and wished they could stay here forever, and never have to face everyday life again.

A little later, she went into the tent, and he, curious, went in after her to see what she was doing. She was writing on her paper tablet. He grabbed it away from her, motivated by a playful spark.

"Give that back!" she demanded mock-seriously, trying to get it away, but he held it over his head. She could almost reach it, since they were the same height, but he kept turning and twisting so she couldn't quite get a grip on it. Then he relaxed his knees and fell purposely onto the sleeping bags.

"Give it back!" she followed him down, still clamoring for it.

"Make me," his voice had softened and dropped at least an octave, and if that weren't a bedroom kind of voice, nothing was.

Her body clenched at her very core at the smooth innuendo, at how silky sexy his voice had become at a moment's notice.

He handed the tablet back to her willingly. "I wasn't really going to read it. I just wanted you close," and his lips came down on hers again. After the kiss, that nearly made her emotions run rampant, he asked, "Why didn't you want me to see it? I've already read your work."

"I will let you read it—just not until it's finished. I had no idea how erotic lovemaking could be until you and I . . . I guess my writing has left a lot to be desired." She felt almost inadequate and ashamed at her former lack of knowledge about the act of making love.

"It had missing details, but I thought maybe you were just leaving it up to the reader's imagination. But now I see that you hadn't yet experienced the possibilities. Now you can make the story as descriptive as you like," he said, and his voice held a hint of wicked.

"Yes, I'm inspired."

"Then let me give you some more inspiration," and now his voice had gone hoarse with need. "Remember, the foreplay is an absolutely necessary prerequisite to lovemaking."

So they flirted. There was that playful fire in his eyes again that was present more often than not. He enjoyed the build-up, the flirting almost as much as the actual sex, and she found that intriguing. To have a man who was this sensitive to her feelings-well, she was not used to that.

"Off with your swim suit," he demanded, but not very forcefully. "I told you no more swim suits allowed. Or clothes," he added. "We can start right now, since it's starting to get dark, and then extend it to the daytime."

He didn't have to worry about asking twice. Deanna willingly removed her swim suit, never tiring of watching him undress at the same time, and, just as nice, his eyes scorching a hole in her. They traveled over her body in a silent, intense caress.

For the next few hours he was going to tease her. Yeah, he had it all planned. He wanted her burning with need for him, and not until she was desperate for him would he deliver the goods. But before he even got a chance to begin, her nails were skimming up and down his arms in that way that always made him gasp. She was learning his hot spots, what really got his motor running.

She watched as his soft member inflated at record speed just from the whisper of her nails gliding over his skin. She became aware of that surge of power again. Her power as a woman was a lot stronger than she would ever have guessed. It was heady, dizzying, and she flirted flamboyantly. Her nails made a trail over his chest, down his stomach and then to his hips, thighs, calves, ending up at his ankles, making him squirm during the process. He was saluting her in a very special way, but she ignored it, pretended she didn't see it.

She was in control here, he realized with a start. He had planned to be the one to initiate the foreplay, but she had taken over, and he found this really piqued his interest. Wanting to know what she would do next, he waited and watched. She let out long sighs, a smile spreading across her face.

As sunset neared, they became more and more playful, throwing innuendos back and forth, laughing and cuddling. He stroked her with his voice—he didn't even need to touch her. Deanna went out to stoke the fire, and he followed her, both of them naked. He watched as her breasts gently bounced when she poked at the fire with a stick, and she watched his hard-on bobbing with every move he made. It was compelling at how quickly she was becoming at ease around him without clothes. It felt unaffected, natural.

She pretended to poke at him with the stick, a guileless look on her face, but he jumped backward as quick as a feline. When she put the stick down, the chase was on. He pursued her all over the beach, laughing, and Deanna screaming when he caught her and brought her down on her back in the sand. Then, without conscious thought, he just acted. Instantaneously his hunger, his need not only guided him, but ruled him. He pushed her legs up to her chest, and spread them wide, nestling his head between them, right there in the sand.

Deanna couldn't have moved if it were tantamount to her survival. She lay there, holding her breath, finally letting out a huge sigh as his mouth moved on her. He licked all around the outside of where she wanted it most, tantalizing her on purpose. Kissing the insides of her thighs, barely touching her core with the tip of his tongue, then licking slowly over her hip bone, avoiding the place that was throbbing, beckoning to him.

His fingers came next, tickling her clit so very briefly, then retreating again. He found out quickly she was already wet with her need for him. Pride swelled within him, knowing he did that to her. He alone, as there was not another person for many miles.

"Davy . . . " she grabbed at his head, trying to pull him to her. She was becoming more aggressive all the time. Oh, he loved that . . .

She felt so exposed, her legs up in the air, spread as they were, Davy's hands holding them apart. But it also excited her almost unbearably. Such a vulnerable position to be in, at his mercy.

_Yes._

When he stopped teasing, and settled between her legs, she made the most satisfied sounds. Humming sounds that told him she wanted more. How much more? At least an orgasm or three. His tongue was insistent, full of expertise, and her sensitivity increased tenfold because he'd denied her only for a few minutes. A few very, very long minutes. He dabbed, he swiped, he swabbed her clit with his tongue, then slipped it inside. She never knew what he might do next. Her hips jerked involuntarily.

She writhed, she begged. Something she'd never imagined she'd ever do in her life. She remembered his dark eyes on her in the library, and, strangely, it aroused her to even greater heights. Somehow she'd known of his sensuality, even then. Even with his attractiveness aside, her body had somehow known—had somehow been pulled toward him, even against her will.

The rhythm of his mouth had steadied now, nudging her higher and higher toward climax. His low growl intensified her desire now so greatly that she whimpered. Her breath came in strained pants. Her swollen clit was twitching and spasming in his mouth. She could feel it, wondered if he could too. She imagined so, as she felt his eager response. He nibbled and sucked at the same time, and tripped the wire, activating the natural sequence of events before she went over the edge.

The violent shaking, her voice ever increasing in volume as she made mindless noises, and then her hips came alive, so much that he was nearly thrown off of her twice. He kept the contact secure though, knowing that if he lost it, she would become nearly crazed from the loss of the stimulation that was driving her toward the crest of feeling and emotion, then would plunge her into bliss.

Her deep shudders, her quivers became a huge series of pitches in her pelvis as she rode his mouth to ecstasy.

She took a while to come back down, and he knew how ultimately satisfying it had been for her, as she didn't even notice the sand in her hair, down to her scalp. Davy looked down to see his cock coated in sand from his own pre-come. It had been literally buried. He just laughed and then continued to pleasure her with more orgasms until she had to beg him to stop. His fingers took the place of his mouth then, and he teased and rubbed her G-spot lovingly. First with one finger, and then with two.

"I can't stop," he explained. "Like I told you before, I want this to go on all day."

So he really _had _been serious. Foreplay all day, sex all day. Yeah, she wouldn't mind trying that. She got her breath back, looked down, and saw what he'd been laughing at.

"You'd better rinse that thing off," she said with a smirk, "because when we go back in the tent, I don't want sand on the sleeping bags." She was trying to fool him into thinking that. But she really wanted the sand rinsed off for another reason . . . Meanwhile, she ran to the fresh water barrel ahead of him.

"I need to . . . . um . . . well, the sand is between my . . . cheeks," and she blushed. Davy had to hold his stomach as he bent over to laugh as she rinsed herself.

It was twilight now, and Davy added wood to the fire, and as he backed away from the fire, Deanna knelt down on her knees in the sand and gave him the license to give himself up to the same wild abandonment she'd had just a short while ago. It felt so good to her to realize she was emboldened enough now to do this.

It shocked the hell out of him. That she would make a move this impudent.

She started out softly, sweetly, tenderly, but as his excitement grew, so did hers. He realized in his dazed fog that she wasn't doing it just to please him. No, she was enjoying it. There could be no mistake about that at all. Her breathing was quick, her cheeks pink, her movements indicating she wouldn't mind devouring him. He wondered if she might do just that, but he didn't mind, as long as she kept it up.

She teased him as he had her at first, a random lick, a kiss, a barely-there suck. It seemed his legs were made of spaghetti. She soon got serious about it, just as he had, and began to suck him strongly, licks thrown in during the midst of it. If he died right now, he'd die a happy man.

She grasped him at the base, stroking slowly, then more quickly as her mouth stayed busy on top. She sucked hard, then soft, alternating, and her tongue was never still. His pre-come made him slippery, and she swiped that slickness with her tongue, spreading it all around the crest, causing him to curl a bit at the waist as if he'd been punched, his hands bracing themselves on her shoulders. It was so intense, and he was feeling the heat deep in his balls within seconds. That rising heat that meant only one thing.

Davy was going to erupt, all his nerve endings firing in rapid succession, and he weakly tried to pull back. She wouldn't let go of him. Didn't she realize? He was in such a fog of desire that he had no strength to fight with her. He tried to warn her as he came to the brink, but was not able to pull away. He came hard and with feelings that were so extreme that he wanted to yell to the world that he loved her. He had wanted to yank back to spare her what might be a very traumatizing experience considering her history, but he found himself stunned when she kept her mouth on him, accepting all he had to give, swallowing, avidly wholehearted about it too. No trepidation.

His sight was so blurry that he couldn't focus, but when he saw her obvious enjoyment was continuing, he was thrilled right down to the very end of his earth shattering climax.

When it was over, she licked him thoroughly, so not a trace remained, then stood up and hugged him, partly because she couldn't look into his eyes just yet, and also because of the depth of her feelings.

"Davy, I want you to know . . . I know I didn't respond when you said it, but I was feeling the same. I love you too. I love you, sweet butt."

And if Davy could have, he would have melted, right there on the sand.

* * *

Theirs was so much more than sex—it was real intimacy, and those were his thoughts as they dozed that night. They had something that some people never find . . . the thoughts floated around in his head freely, making his lips turn up at the corners in contentment when he recalled how she'd also declared her love.

Until the scratching started.

His pleasant little visions evaporated in a dried up pool of disgruntlement.

Deanna woke up the moment it began. She was so in tune with him, that she felt the tension in his body almost before she actually heard the sound.

"Not again!" she protested in a voice that was slightly throaty with sleep. "Is there no rest for the wicked?"

"I guess not," he grumbled, but only a bit of a grumble, because he was too happy to emit a genuine grumble. Okay, so the scratching sound was back. But his girl loved him, and boy, did that ever make up for it.

The story hadn't changed. He hurtled out of the tent as he'd done the other two nights, and came back empty handed again, and with no more wisdom about its origins than he'd had before. He was happy to find the sound had stopped when he returned so he could allow Deanna to drape herself all over him again, and go right back into his half asleep fantasies featuring the woman he loved.

* * *

The next morning Davy's thoughts were scattered as he looked for another banana leaf that was in good enough condition to use, because Deanna's sandal had broken, and he would not permit her to walk barefoot on this island. He planned to make some makeshift sandals from banana leaves.

Trouble was, this morning he was testy, moody. Actually, ill-tempered and surly would more accurately describe his disposition. He didn't often get this way, but when he did, he could be a bitch to deal with. His band mates were well acquainted with it. But Deanna wasn't, so he was keeping to himself as much as he could without neglecting her. The still unsolved mystery of the scratching last night wasn't particularly concerning, but something else was. _Someone _else was.

Peter—Peter had launched this sullenness in him. At the time Deanna had mentioned it, having Peter come to Hawaii had sounded innocuous enough. But the more he pondered it, the more he regretted inviting Peter.

Up until now, they had been alone. And he'd liked that. Liked it more than he should, truth be told. But that was beside the point. The point was, clearly, that he didn't want to give up any of that time alone with her. And the fact was that when Peter arrived, they'd have to go back to Maui. Peter would be too bored here on Molokai, no doubt. And it was no wonder. No hula dancers, no clubs, no nightlife, not even any shops. Just the ocean and sand. Which was fine for himself and Deanna, as all they needed was each other. All they _wanted _was each other. They were in love. But now things would be changing drastically, and it was making Davy grumpy. Hell, he was more than that; he was bloody pissed off.

Why had he agreed to it anyway? Was he that stupid? What the fuck was he thinking? Peter was good at being a tag-along, and that was surely what he would do. He and Deanna could just kiss their privacy goodbye. Even though they'd have their own room, it just wouldn't be the same. No way was this going to work. And here they had extended their vacation for two weeks, at a cost to the band and Deanna's schooling and work, and for what? To have Peter here for the two weeks that they could have been alone? Those two weeks were too precious to spend with a third party. He was furious with himself.

Even so, he felt conflicted. He loved Peter's company, and would love to see him have fun. But not when he had to change their routine. The skinny dips would be no more. No more foreplay. At least, not really obvious foreplay. This asking Peter to come had been premature. Maybe the last three days they were here would have been reasonable, but two weeks? That was daft, and it was his fault he hadn't spoken up.

He'd washed with the fresh water, and had washed his hair also, as he did every day, and it was odd how the smell of her shampoo on his hair aroused him when the breeze blew the scent into his nostrils. His insides clenched. It was as if she was right here beside him. But she wasn't . . . he'd left her in the tent with strict instructions to stay put until he could get some decent banana leaves. Those flimsy sandals girls wore might be cute, but they broke so easily, he thought to himself. Little, insubstantial things with flowers and butterflies on them. Women cared more about how something looked than how durable it was.

Since he couldn't change the fact that Peter was coming, it was best to try not to think about it. Peter had told him before that his nasty moods were "unattractive." Of course, Peter had said it in a very gentle, subtle way, but he'd gotten the message across, and Davy didn't want Deanna to see him like this. So he'd better straighten his ass out and paste a smile on his face before he went back to the tent. He was being selfish, but at least he had the decency to feel abashed because of it. He supposed he was just a little too used to getting what he wanted. True, he'd worked hard for Deanna, and that had been instrumental in waking him up to the fact that everything in life didn't come easy. It was true that he'd had a poor upbringing, and the Monkees had struggled, but where girls were concerned, well, that had never presented much of a problem. There had, in fact, been _too many_ girls. Deanna had introduced him to humility. She was good for him—he had the clarity of mind to recognize that.

So he purposely recalled a brief interaction they'd had last night after he'd thought she had fallen asleep. This cheered him up so that by the time he got back to the tent with his chosen banana leaves, he was close to being back to his usual cheerful, sanguine self again.

"So . . ." he remembered her voice in the dark had almost startled him. He'd thought she was asleep. "Did you catch the big bad animal?"

"Yeah, I whipped its ass."

She'd smacked his arm. "Think you're _that _strong, huh?" she'd asked.

"A man in love has the strength of thousands," he had answered with a smile that was swallowed up by the dark of night and her warm and very suggestive kiss . . .


	18. Chapter 18

In a dreamy, half-aware state, her mind worked furiously. The audacity she'd demonstrated last evening hovered on the edge of her awareness, and even in her sleepy state, it flabbergasted her. They had brought each other such untold pleasure. It had felt so right. Even so, it was like an out-of-body experience, because it had been so utterly novel for her, so unprecedented.

Today she'd awakened wrapped in a cocoon of pure Davy. He had been the one to introduce her into this world she had not been aware of before. He'd made her hunger for him, want him, need him,_ crave_ him. And most of all, love him. She'd have laughed her head off only weeks ago if someone had told her she'd soon be in love, would admit it to him, and would behave the way she had.

Letting him pull her down onto the sand, and luxuriating in the feel of his mouth. The memory of it now . . . oh God. Then later . . . getting on her knees . . . so zealous for him. She'd never felt such burning, blazing desire like this. She'd entered into this whole thing with him with such trepidation, and now she was in so very deep.

She let the memories of his mouth on her infiltrate her essence, then the still almost brand new, heady, drugged feeling of him in her mouth. She could still hear his moans, feel him quaking with his own need.

Davy had left a while ago, and now he entered the tent with several banana leaves. Immediately she saw his attempt at appearing composed. His stormy eyes said otherwise.

"These won't be the most comfortable sandals in the world, but they'll help you to avoid getting cuts."

He got busy wrapping the leaves around her feet, and then tying them with vines—not too tightly, so as not to cut off circulation, and not too loosely, or she'd lose them quickly.

"They won't last long. We'll probably have to replace them by tomorrow. Kapena is coming in a little while, by the way, with our supplies," he added.

"I know . . . the next time Kapena comes, after today, we'll be leaving with him," she said with something that sounded close to melancholy flavoring her words. Then she watched him closely to see what reaction it might bring.

_Just what he needed to hear._ He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it, and getting leaves and making her sandals had given him something to do, a way to divert his mind from their impending departure from Molokai. Then she had to bring it up.

His pleasantries were becoming forced, his mannerisms stiff, and she knew for sure now that something was really eating at him.

"Davy, what's wrong?" she asked point blank. He wouldn't look at her. Those normally penetrating eyes strayed from hers elusively, impossible to catch.

"Nothing. Probably just got a little too much sun," he said evasively.

"Want some water, something to eat?"

"No, I think I just need to rest a little," he said after he finished lashing her new sandals to her feet.

"Thanks—I know it's hard to find banana leaves that aren't shredded," she said. "I'll go try them out." She started to leave the tent when he called her back.

"I know why you're leaving. You see my mood, and you think I want to be alone. Well, I don't, you know. I wanna talk, yeah?"

His British dialect was peeking out, and she knew what that meant. Something was niggling at his emotions. And judging by his behavior, it wasn't necessarily good.

"Sure," she sat back down, close beside him, the smooth banana leaves feeling foreign, yet soothingly cool on her feet.

"I want to preserve our closeness . . ." he began. "I don't want you keeping anything from me . . . so I shouldn't keep this from you. I won't let there be a double standard." He watched the sea through the tent flap, studying the bubbly foam as it rolled onto the sand. He knew this much—that little lies by omission could become big threats to a relationship. He was not going to allow that to happen to the two of them, so he soldiered on.

"Any road, I shouldn't have said nothing was wrong, because something is."

Deanna felt a pang of uncertainty of the worst kind. He could be talking about anything. Anything at all. He could be reconsidering their relationship, even doubting his love for her. He could be trying to find a way to tell her he didn't feel it after all. She tried to recall anything she'd said or done that would cause such a huge negative reaction in him, but not a single thing came to mind.

"It's Peter . . ." his voice was giving way, losing its resolve. He didn't like the way this was going to sound. So possessive. So . . . bossy. But how else could he tell her of the turmoil he was suffering?

_Peter._ The bassist's name was the last thing she'd anticipated coming from Davy's mouth at the moment. What could Peter have to do with anything? What could it possibly be?

"I'm being stroppy, I know. But he's going to take a lot of our time together away."

"Stroppy?"

"Sulky . . . I revert back to British words when I'm disturbed about something."

_No kidding. As if she hadn't already noticed._ It was, though, a handy, convenient way of knowing when Davy was agitated. She didn't really need it though, as his expressive face gave him away more often than not.

"Hey, why cry over spilled milk?" she asked, slightly perturbed. "He's been invited, he's coming, and that's that. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? Our last two weeks here? You know, you're one who suggested I invite him." Davy's frustrations were coming to the fore quickly. The storm clouds gathered ever more ominously in his dark eyes. He was mad at himself more than anything, but she didn't know that.

Deanna's temper flared instantly. So he was going to jump on_ her_ about it?

"And_ you're_ the one who actually _did _invite him! You called him, remember?" she shot right back. How dare he turn this onto her!

Deanna was really getting rattled now, his sullen attitude fueling her anger. "What can we do, anyway? He already has the plane ticket! And why are you putting the blame on me, anyway? You brought up the fact that he was missing you so much. I was just trying to be nice!"

"This vacation was for _us,_ not you, me and Peter!" Davy practically spat it out.

"Well, I didn't by any means _force_ you to call him and invite him! Sounds like you're dealing with some remorse here."

"I'm upset with both of us. We should have had more sense than to invite him. He's going to ruin it for us." Davy felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to change things. And he found that almost unbearable. Davy was not used to not having solutions.

He abruptly got up and left the tent, leaving Deanna speechless, her jaw dragging the ground. She started to set out after him, then stopped herself. If he was going to be this short-tempered and cantankerous over something that she had no fault in, then let him go and have his tantrum elsewhere.

* * *

He sat in the sand by the sea for a while, half a mile away from the tent, and thought about what had just happened. His intentions had been good. Really, they had. But things had gone terribly awry almost from the moment he'd opened his big mouth. He'd tried to keep the communication open, but it had backfired. No, truthfully, to be fair, he had become accusing, critical, and defensive. He had been beyond unreasonable. He'd practically attacked her with accusations when he was every bit as much to blame. In fact, he was _more _to blame.

They'd never bickered before. Not even a little bit. Well, at least not since the library days, when she'd been so begrudging toward him. So this came as an unexpected, cruel blow. And he knew she was suffering just as much as he. But now he was afraid to go back to the tent. There were a lot of unfavorable possibilities. He feared she might tell him she wanted to go back to Malibu as soon as possible. Or refuse to talk to him for the remainder of their vacation. Or tell him she didn't love him anymore. Oh God, that would be the worst of all. And all because he'd been such a wanker about Peter coming.

Kapena's canoe appeared, and Davy hadn't even seen it coming. He'd had his damn head up his ass. He went to meet the local, running to get to where Kapena always dropped off the supplies—at the tent. Deanna was nowhere in sight. Davy supposed she was still in the tent.

Right away, Kapena saw the poorly disguised sorrow on Davy's features. He was more observant than Davy ever would have guessed. Davy thought Kapena just did his job, and didn't pay much attention to anything else. He was wrong.

"What's wrong?" Kapena asked as he pulled the canoe up onto the sand. They were out of Deanna's earshot, but Davy kept his voice low anyway.

"Oh, we had a little . . . argument, I guess you could call it. Our first," he added.

"Your first? New lovers, huh?"

"Yeah. Pretty much," admitted Davy.

To his surprise, the local chuckled. "You'll have plenty of those in the future. But one thing I can tell you for sure about women . . . go talk to her. Don't let it fester."

Davy sensed the older man had been around the block a few times, and knew what he was talking about. He was at least twice Davy's age, if not a bit more. Now that Davy studied the man and thought about it, Kapena had a sharp-witted, insightful, discerning face. A wise face. A face that had not revealed a whole lot before today. Sure, Kapena had educated them a bit about Molokai, but Davy hadn't gotten the impression he would ever get any more personal than that.

Davy felt compelled to talk to him, glean as much wisdom as he could now that he had the opportunity. Davy might be experienced with women, but had almost no experience with committed relationships. He was a baby where that was concerned. Most of his flings had been just that, and hadn't lasted more than a few weeks or perhaps a month or two. And he hadn't been in love. Just lust. So in the department of love, he was quite the virgin.

"But what if she refuses to talk to me?" he asked, casting all pride aside in the hope of gaining a slice of knowledge from Kapena before the man had to leave. He didn't have much time to pick the guy's brain.

They made a show of organizing and gathering the supplies before lifting them from the canoe to take to the tent, Kapena slowing his movements and taking more time than was necessary when he picked up on how receptive Davy was, the boy seeming to be in fact, eager to discuss the matter. The boy really seemed to want to learn, and that was always a good sign.

"Then keep trying," answered Kapena. "If she cares for you the way I think she does, she'll eventually talk to you. Maybe not right away, but it won't be long."

"What do you mean, if she cares the way you think she does?"

"I can see it in her behavior. Her eyes are on you more than anything else. I saw it both times you two were in the canoe. Yeah . . . she has the look of a woman in love," said Kapena with quiet conviction. "She won't walk away from you. Not unless you do something to make her despise you. Take my word for it. Talk to her, and everything will be alright. Don't lie to her. Just tell her what is in your heart, because I can also see how you care for her. Apologize if it's called for too, because women need to hear it from your lips when you are truly sorry. Has to be sincere too."

Davy saw Deanna looking out of the tent flap from the corner of his eye, although he didn't turn his head. Kapena had seen her too, and they quickly snapped back to giving their full attention to what they were doing to allay any suspicions she might have of them talking about her. They carried the supplies to the tent and dumped them in front of it. Davy saw that Deanna had now disappeared from the opening, retreating back out of view.

As Davy walked Kapena back to the canoe, Kapena gave him a fatherly pat on the back. They only had a couple more minutes to steal before Deanna would start to suspect anything.

"Just in talking to the two of you in the short time I've known you, I can tell she is a compassionate woman. The kind of woman any guy would be proud to be with. She's one worth fighting for. If you play your cards right, be sincere, well, she will turn into a marshmallow in the hot sun."

Interesting way of putting it. Davy thanked Kapena and paid him along with a healthy tip, and Kapena wished him luck, saying he'd be back in two more days to take them back to Maui.

"Yeah, we have a friend coming, so we'll be going back to Maui for the final two weeks we'll be here."

"I really don't know why you've stayed here at all," Kapena indicated the island of Molokai, looking bewildered. "Don't you get tired of the same thing, bored?" He was realizing he really liked this couple, and Davy's candid demeanor.

Davy gazed at him steadily. Then the scope of things hit Kapena. His eyes lit up when his "Ah-ha" moment came into being.

"Oh, how could I be so dim witted? Young love! Of course, you only want to be together, alone," he exclaimed as he punched Davy in the arm playfully. One of those male bonding moments, Deanna supposed, as she watched through a slit in the tent flap. Men and their enigmatic ways! They seemed to act and speak in code; no matter where they were from, men all spoke the same language, communicating with their macho peculiarities. She had no idea they were talking about her.

"All will be fine if you care to apply what I suggested. All I can do is speak from my own experiences, bad and good. I've had my share of encounters with women over the years," Kapena explained. "They want to know you respect them, and that they can trust you. They need lots of reminders of that too. Make her melt—I know you can do it, boy," and Kapena rowed away, waving and sporting a reassuring smile that infused Davy with courage. Courage to go back into that tent.

_I can do this._

"Deanna," his voice was hushed and as he slipped inside and into the shadows with her, he sounded almost sultry. His effort to be gentle and unobtrusive had made his voice sound sexy to her. Yeah, it was to that degree that he turned her on. Even with this little fight of theirs hanging over their heads. She hated to admit it to herself, but to her, Davy was desire itself.

She was sitting on the sleeping bags, looking dismayed and perplexed—also sad. As if she'd lost a dear friend, or a lover. He shivered at that thought.

Davy sighed, took a chance and sat down beside her, hooked an arm around her shoulders, and reeled her in close to his side. She didn't offer resistance.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, into her hair. His breath ruffled it, making Deanna's breathing quicken. "I guess we both should have thought it over more carefully before I called Pete. But I take all the blame. None of it was your fault. There's no excuse for the way I acted."

When she didn't speak, he continued. "I can call him and have him cancel his flight." Davy hated to even say that, because he didn't want to disappoint Peter, but if that was what it took to make her happy . . .

"I think we'll agree that that is not an option," she responded. "It's really unthinkable."

"I really do want him to come, you know. I was just being rather self-centered," admitted Davy. "Selfish," he added sheepishly.

"It's not just you. I've thought about it possibly not being the best idea too. But we'll make the best of it, won't we?" she looked at him directly for the first time since he'd entered the tent, and he saw the hope in her eyes.

He smiled and sighed, the brooding look on his face long dissolved.

"You know, sometimes you look like a bad ass, and I don't know how you accomplish it with that baby face," said Deanna. "I'm not being sarcastic. I really don't know how you pull it off." She looked mystified, and Davy had to laugh.

"I've been told that before . . . by Peter," he said, without even thinking. "You don't really think I'm a bad ass though, do you?" he looked as if her answer was important to him. It was. If only she knew . . .

No, I know you're not . . . but I've not seen that side of you before . . . the side I saw before you left the tent."

"I can be fractious—they remind me of it often at the Pad. And they give me all kinds of crap about it. But most of the time, I'm a nice guy. I try to make up for my crotchety ways by being generous and gallant the rest of the time," he said as he took her hand and kissed her fingers, as if to prove it. "But damn me and my _occasional_ temper." He made sure she took note of the emphasis he put on "occasional."

"Sometimes when you talk about him, I get the feeling Peter knows you better than just about anyone," Deanna said thoughtfully. "From the vibes I get, you two are really tight."

"We are. He knows just from a glance what kind of mood I'm in. Which is usually good, mind you," he added swiftly, taking advantage of the additional opportunity to make sure the significance wasn't lost on her.

"He says he can tell by the slightest thing, like the way I breathe, the way I move around, the way I tread, if I'm upset about something."

"And you, Deanna, you're catching up quick. It's just that Peter's known me for years. You'll get so you're right on top of it too. And Peter does weasel his way in, even from two thousand miles away. He's good at that." She wasn't sure exactly what he meant by that. Weasel his way in by coming here, or weasel his way into Davy's thoughts?

Deanna tried to conceal her pride. Their first spat since they'd been a couple, and she had to concede that they'd handled it well. Both of them. They'd said some inmature things, sure, but they seemed to have patched it up, and she actually felt closer to him for it.

* * *

Canned and packaged food like fruit cocktail, Spam, bread, prunes, raisins, peanut butter, ravioli, macaroni and cheese . . . everything came in a can or package. They had no refrigeration so their choices were limited. But it was fun. It was so different from anything Deanna had ever done before. She'd never even gone camping before, and it didn't seem to be getting old at all. In fact, she relished each moment she spent here with Davy.

They washed the few clothes they had with their water supply. They didn't come out as clean as if they'd had a washing machine, but at least they didn't feel like they were dirty either. Just not quite as clean as they would have liked. Small price to pay though, for being all alone together.

That night when the scratching started, Davy simply laughed. They both laughed, because it was funny now—a running joke.

"I guess we'll never find out what it is, because we'll be gone soon," and Davy's voice carried a wistful undercurrent.

They made the most of their last day on the island. Swimming, talking, telling jokes, taking time to gaze out at the sea, and most of all, to make love. They did a lot of that, and Davy's dream of making love to her non-stop for an entire day nearly came true. If not for Deanna getting sore, he might have done exactly that. Making love to her, staying inside her, not pulling out. Waiting until he was hard again, and then starting over.

They got as close to it as they could - making love at least five times that day, the day before their departure. He was avid and had a difficult time keeping his hands off her. She wanted it as much as he did, even though she was sore. But knowing he'd make her even more sore was enough to make him abstain. In no way would he hurt her. His trademark charisma, however, caused Deanna to fight her own inner battle with herself. If they made love even one more time, she was in danger of not being able to walk. She told him about it, accusing him of being such an exquisite lover that she could hardly resist him. His fulfillment at hearing those words swelled his heart as well as his groin, and his gratification was complete.

He watched, engrossed as she shaved her legs and rinsed them with the fresh water.

"Why do you do that?" he inquired.

"Why? _Why?_ So I'll have soft, silky legs, silly," she answered. When he still looked bemused, she said, "For you! I do it for you!" He ran his fingers up her calf, enjoying the sleek feel.

He didn't need to open his mouth. The look on his face said it all. She wanted her legs soft and silky for him. For him and only him. He had to grin.

After holding hands and watching the sunset, they went for a last swim that night. Davy kissed her underwater, hugged her close above the water, and generally just kept heaping affection on her. The moonlight on the water reflected in their eyes, brown and silver, and they rarely looked anywhere except at each other. They openly stared, and it felt good. They were well aware this was the last swim they'd have naked, at night on Molokai, or any swim on Molokai, period. The island was as romantic to them as any place on earth, and this would be a night to remember always.

* * *

Early in the morning, Davy drew out his normally prolonged foreplay even more before the last time they would make love before leaving the island.

He was extra gentle, and had her thoroughly wet and lubricated with his mouth and pure lust for him before he laid her on her stomach, then gently lifted her lower body up, grasping her hips as he reared up and slid ever-so-slowly into her while on his knees. She gasped, the feeling being more intense this way, his penetration deeper. He used long, almost lazy strokes, slowly stoking her inner fire until she wanted it deeper, faster, harder. Even though she'd already just had three orgasms. He complied when she finally had to speak up and beg for it, because her subtle hints weren't working. He was a bit of a tease sometimes . . .

He had wanted to be sure she was ready, and that he would not cause her pain. And he'd also wanted her to feel extra lusty toward him. His desire rocketed when he looked down at the two of them joined, such a sensual, erotic sight. He watched himself slide in and out of her, mesmerized.

"Damn, that looks good," he said. She was in no shape to ask him what he meant because her mind could go nowhere else but on the feelings. How deeply he was enveloped into her, how engorged he was. He angled himself so he'd hit her G-spot, and this brought drawn out moans from her. And that was just what he'd been aiming for. His orgasm approached quickly from that point, despite all the sex they'd had previously. His fingers went under her and he sought her clit, barely brushing it with his fingertips, massaging it with little more pressure than a whisper or a gentle breeze, knowing how quickly that would send the heat spiraling through her. And it did.

Their cries of release echoed the last of countless orgasms that had ripped through them over the last twenty-four hours. It had culminated faster than Davy had planned, but maybe it was better this way, as she was just about at her maximum capacity for sex.

"I love you, Deanna!" he shouted at his peak, just as he'd wanted to many times before. And now he could, because there were no inhibitions or stifling restraints holding him back any longer. He could proclaim his love without reservation, and it felt damn good. Deanna couldn't utter a word. Nothing but incoherent, blissful moans came from her. Davy was proud that he could render her speechless and boneless with his lovemaking.

* * *

By the time Kapena got there an hour and a half later, they'd eaten breakfast, and had everything packed and ready to load into the canoe. Davy wore a khaki shirt that he left unbuttoned, and his swim trunks. The unbuttoned shirt was even worse for Deanna than when he wore no shirt. It made her want to rip it off him because the glimpses of his bare chest tantalized her. It was hard to resist actually doing it because he was an endless tease, even if he didn't realize it.

In a way, Davy was excited about going to get Peter from the airport—showing him Hawaii. And of course, on the other hand he was regretful that they had to leave their beloved Molokai. Deanna had mixed feelings too. She was still nervous about Peter, since she didn't know him well, and she was naturally shy and withdrawn at first with strangers. She knew Davy thought the world of him though, and that helped to calm her jagged nerves.

Tendrils of her hair had escaped her ponytail and were whipping about her face in the wind that was really little more than a breeze. The bane of fine hair. She'd battled it all her life. At the same time she was thinking this, Davy was gazing at her in admiration. He liked her natural, "wind-swept" look. She looked so free and alluring. It made him feel a little wild on the inside. He shook his head in disbelief. How could he possibly be feeling frisky after all the lovemaking they'd done?

Deanna's banana leaf sandals were on their last legs. They were barely holding on, but they'd served her well in the last forty-eight hours, thanks to Davy.

The hardest part by far was getting into the canoe and leaving the island. Deanna turned around to take one last long look at it as they rowed away. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't stop herself. Its beauty was etched quite clearly in her mind, and she knew she'd always remember it as clearly as she saw it right now. It was _their _island, hers and Davy's. That was how she felt about it. And they were leaving it behind. She brushed away several tears and forced herself to look toward Maui, hoping that maybe someday they could come back. Someday when they could afford another trip to Hawaii. No telling how long that would be, but she had to tell herself that, or she wouldn't have been able to bear seeing Molokai disappear in the distance.

* * *

Peter's smile lit up the entire airport—Deanna swore it did. Everyone had to have seen the sunshine that burst out of that plane when he disembarked. He was bursting with energy and good cheer. He talked with exuberance and high spirits, describing his flight, what he had to eat on the plane, the stewardesses, the turbulence and the landing all almost in the same breath.

Davy's look of adoration when he saw the blonde bassist took Deanna aback with a jolt. The smile that was plastered on Davy's face was similar to the smile she had thought was reserved only for her. Their hug was fierce and long, Peter murmuring "Jonesy" affectionately more than once. Davy said "missed you babe," a couple of times. Peter's hug for her was the same as it had been the last time—sweet, warm and thorough. And innocent. The innocence practically radiated off him. This fascinated her. Peter was in his early to mid-twenties, yet she wondered if he'd had many girlfriends, or any at all. The way he blushed so easily, would only look her in the eye briefly, kind of reminded her of the way she was herself—most especially when she'd first met Davy.

So Peter was bashful, and it was becoming, somehow it making him ultra attractive. It was certainly a refreshing change from the pompous attitude so many guys flaunted as if it were a good thing. If Deanna had to choose, it would be innocence over arrogance or conceit. Any day of the week. Of course, Davy was not innocent, but he also was not imperious or vain. Davy seemed to be an exception in most things, and so, she began to find out, was Peter. They were so different from each other, yet still so alike. They complemented each other. Maybe that was one reason they were such good friends.

Peter was totally taken by Hawaii. It took him only seconds before he started saying things like, "This place is a gas! Groovy! Far out!" before they'd even left the airport. Deanna wondered what he would think of Moloaki. But, of course, they wouldn't be going back. She pushed that depressing fact away.

Peter, she found, had a lot of whimsy. He was quirky and unpredictable. Yet, he was willing to go along with whatever suggestions she or Davy made. He wasn't picky about the food at the restaurants, loved exploring in the jeep they had rented again, and was generally one of the most easy-going guys she'd ever met. This wasn't going to be so bad after all.

They'd had a nice lunch and dinner, and had decided to spend the night in the hotel by the airport. They'd find another hotel that was close to the beach, had a pool, and a better view tomorrow. But tonight they were all very tired, and Peter was suffering from jet lag.

They got two rooms, of course, and Davy experienced an unexpected sharp pang of guilt. Peter was in a place he wasn't familiar with, and now they were shoving him into a room by himself.

_Knock it off, Jones! Peter's a grown man! Being in a room by himself overnight won't kill him!_

Davy realized then that the fact that he shared a bedroom with Peter at home probably was what had triggered the guilt. It was a habit, after all. They'd lived together for several years. That's all it was. He had to remember to try to not be quite so protective of Peter. He reminded himself of a worried mother hen. He guessed he cared just a little too much. Not having Mike around was also a factor. Mike was good at keeping them all safe and in line. So that responsibility was now shifted over to Davy, even though Peter was older than himself by three years. Ridiculous. Peter had proved himself over and over that he could manage just fine. Except for the occasional botched meal when he'd tried to cook at the Pad, and the fact that he was overly sensitive and emotional, Peter was as capable as any of them of taking care of himself.

Peter seemed to push all the right buttons with Davy. He could calm him, comfort him, and joke him out of a funk better than anyone. Also, Peter was so mind-blowingly mellow, and that did Davy a lot of good, because Davy was dynamic and vivacious. Perfect for being on stage, but he did sometimes have trouble winding down, and Peter was a virtual tranquilizer.

Deanna saw the look that passed between the two guys when they separated for the night, and Davy and Deanna went to their own room. It was a warmhearted fond look. She might have even felt a prickle of jealousy if Peter were a girl. But he wasn't, and she and Davy would be alone in their room, and Peter in his. And she couldn't help liking their closeness anyway. It showed Davy was capable of commitment. He was devoted to Peter. His actions made that clear, intentional or not.

In the morning, after falling dead asleep and not remembering anything after her head hit the pillow, she awoke to find Davy gone from the bed. Alarmed for a moment, she looked in the bathroom. Not there. Not in the kitchen either. She went to the window and peeked out.

A shaft of brilliant sunlight slanted down between the palm and banana trees above their heads as Davy and Peter talked. Peter's blonde, sun-streaked hair was scintillating in the sun. It positively shimmered. Davy's chocolate locks that held a hint of chestnut complimented Peter's hair nicely, and was very nearly as shiny. Davy's hands were in the back pockets of his jeans, a casual habit he'd adopted somewhere along the way, but one that always turned Deanna inside out.

Peter leaned an elbow against the palm tree, completely at ease in Davy's company, the V in the front of his shirt revealing golden hair on his chest that was way past appealing. His dimpled smile, directed at Davy, was arresting. She gasped just a little bit. If he weren't Davy's best friend, and she wasn't already involved with and in love with Davy, she could easily see how Peter would be very enticing.

By the end of that first full day together, shopping, swimming, laughing, eating and have long discussions, Deanna was no longer questioning the validity of them inviting Peter to join them in Hawaii. There was no disquiet or tension. She knew the three of them would continue to have infinite fun. It was all falling naturally into place. The chemistry was there. She had a hunch the final two weeks of this vacation were going to be auspicious and something they would be sure to cherish for many years. What an understatement this would turn out to be. She didn't realize how deep and fathomless the impact would be on all three of them.


	19. Chapter 19

"So, what did Michael say about you coming?" asked Davy of Peter as the three of them sat in a restaurant eating big, juicy steaks and flatbread, a delicious type of pizza enjoyed by Hawaiian locals. Davy loved the luxury of steak, and Peter could never get enough pizza, so they'd ordered both, along with a huge plate of appetizers and bread.

"Ah, you know how profound he is—how he reigns supreme," said Peter with a sly smile. "He gave me some flack, but not much. We've got some killer gigs coming up for when we get back. Even a couple of parties and a wedding, not counting clubs. He can't complain."

Davy looked quite satisfied as he signaled the waitress for dessert. Relief washed over him. He didn't want Mike blaming him for Peter coming here. Not many things were worse than Mike's wrath. The man could make your life intolerably miserable without putting much effort into it. And if he_ did_ put effort into it, well, you might as well just dig a hole and plan never to surface again. He would make damn sure you were reminded of the error of your ways for a long time to come.

"If Mike were here though, he'd definitely say 'this is where it's at!'" Davy exclaimed. It was one of Mike's favorite sayings.

Dessert arrived—an immensely moist pineapple upside down cake, and they all dug in. Davy performed his intimate ritual of feeding Deanna a bite here and there from his own fork. She was too embarrassed to return the favor in front of Peter, and Davy seemed to sense it, retaining his casual air and not overdoing it. Peter didn't seem adversely affected by it, although he did look on with poorly concealed absorption. He'd never seen Davy do this with anyone before, but he didn't want to make Deanna feel awkward by remarking on it.

The atmosphere with these two was special in a way she had never experienced before. They included her in their discussions so she didn't feel left out, they sought her opinions on things, and they made her laugh when they spoke of escapades they'd had.

She was amazed that four guys could live together and get along as well as the Monkees seemed to. They spoke of adventures that Deanna could not even imagine actually doing. They'd gotten into trouble quite a bit, but somehow things always seemed to work out alright in the end.

"So where do you want to go tomorrow, Peter?" asked Davy.

"I love the beaches, and it's beautiful, but there's so many people; more than I expected . . ." Peter's voice trailed off. Deanna wouldn't have expected to hear this from Peter. She thought she and Davy were unusual in that they liked to be away from crowds.

"You should see this island we visited, Moloaki. I told you about it on the phone," Davy refreshed Peter's memory. "We were the only ones there, I swear! It's as primitive as you can get. We bought a tent and brought some supplies, and just kicked back. We had a local come to check on us and bring us supplies every two days. We could have stayed there forever." Davy's eyes strayed to hers.

Meanwhile, Peter's eyes were wide with interest. "Sounds groovy! ! I'd like to see it sometime while we're here, if it's possible." Deanna almost choked on her drink. A chance to go back to Moloaki? They wouldn't get any argument from her!

And there was another reason she missed Molokai. She was sick of women hitting on Davy. Even right the hell in front of her! They had no shame, the flirting so transparent. Davy, bless his heart, largely ignored it. He was accustomed to it because he was in a rock band, and that was all part of it.

Now that Peter was here, it wasn't quite so bad, because a lot of the women also found him attractive. Peter, however, seemed as oblivious to their regard as Davy was. No wonder Peter was innocent—he didn't give the women any encouragement whatsoever, even though he was single. Deanna got the feeling he didn't think he was worthy of female attention, so as a result, didn't notice it. He was too busy listening to Davy talk about Molokai to notice, for instance, how the waitress' eyes roved over him approvingly when she dropped by the table to see if they needed anything else.

Nothing was more attractive than a good looking guy who doesn't know it, and that was Peter. But the fact that he hung around Davy put him at a disadvantage. Not only did females' eyes go to Davy first, but after that first look, Peter could too easily be pushed back into the shadows because Davy, who was also blessed with the gift of strong magnetism, tended to mesmerize the female sex.

Deanna told Peter about Davy saving her from the undercurrent that night in Molokai. Peter was completely engrossed in the story. Davy looked embarrassed. He didn't want any recognition or credit for it. He acted a little dumbfounded that Deanna and Peter thought it was heroic. Deanna thought that was wonderfully humble of him.

That night, Davy couldn't wait to get Deanna alone in the hotel room. This time they'd picked a hotel with an ocean view. He couldn't wait to snuggle. There was only one problem-Peter was hanging around.

Peter pulled Davy aside before retiring to his room to ask Davy if they had the x-rated channel there.

"I don't know, mate, but you better go check." That sent Peter packing in a hurry.

_Clever,_ thought Deanna.

"I feel bad that Peter is having to pay for his room, and we aren't," Deanna confided to Davy after the blonde had gone.

"Rubbish. He has savings. I've already told you that. If we don't have our time alone together, I'll go ape." He was sorry the moment he said it, as Deanna's response was pretty much what he would have expected. She jumped on it eagerly.

"Well, it's okay, I suppose, to go ape, since you're already a Monkee!"

"Very funny. You know how old that kind of joke is? Everyone thinks they're being original when they say stuff of that nature, but they don't realize we hear it several times a week."

She'd been sore yesterday, but her willingness and eagerness were palpable tonight. No innuendos were necessary; he could pick it up in the subtle ambiance surrounding them. All she had to do was look at him and he had the answer. Davy was pleased and honored that she was so ready for him all the time, anytime they were alone. Unless she was terribly sore, of course. He'd never encountered a woman who got as wet as quickly as she did either. And not just damp, but positively soaking.

"Davy," she murmured, running her nails lightly up his arm, a sure sign she was amorous. It was a secret between them, a kind of signal that he cherished. They entered the bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light. In the relative darkness, the full moon flickered a flirty peek-a-boo with the curtains.

"Davy," she said again. He loved how she said his name. As if she would die if he didn't make love to her then and there.

He began kissing her, his seduction already planned with meticulous care. Davy didn't often get it wrong. His early education on how to treat women had stuck with him. His hand was creeping up the front of her blouse, his fingers trailing, fluttering, promising. He used a very soft touch, knowing what Deanna preferred and craved. She could hardly wait to feel his hands fully on her.

He unfastened her bra, drew her blouse off, running his knuckles so lightly over her ribs that it raised goose bumps. He took the time to get her to that level he loved—where she was just on the other side of begging.

He sucked her nipples, eliciting pants from her. He looked down at them, lit by the moon, large, puckered, moist and shimmering from the wetness of his mouth, and it took his arousal to even greater heights. Hell, _everything _about her turned him on.

His hands slipped down to her butt, cupping it and pulling her up tight against him. She was delighted that he used different tactics, and she never knew which one would be on any particular night's menu. He was like a ride at an amusement park—always throwing in twists and turns that she didn't expect. His hardness under his slacks nudged her in the best possible spot, bringing a stealthy smile to his lips.

They made love facing each other on their sides tonight, her uppermost leg thrown over his hip. The eye contact was riveting and concentrated to the point that Deanna felt tears come to her eyes. The fact that he looked so solidly into her eyes had a domino effect as he slowly rocked his hips, his tenderness making her heart lurch in a strange way, and that in turn set off her emotions to reach high tide right along with the ocean.

"You'd be far more sore . . . if you weren't always so slick inside . . . for me," he said.

"Am I . . . unusually . .. _slick?_ She asked, trying to articulate even though his body movements were taking her breath away, and very nearly her voice.

"Oh yeah . . . very, very slick. It keeps things . . . lubricated." Now he was having trouble talking. The sensations were taking over.

With an agonizing slowness he moved, and every rustle of the sheets as his hips smoothly pushed himself in deeper, gliding like butter, made her fight for breath.

"Davy . . . I love you."

He smiled lazily, those full, pouty lips encouraging her to think of all the ways they had made love—wondering how many more there could be. Wanting to experience all of it, savor it all.

"I'm glad you're getting more comfortable about saying it," he replied.

"Ooooohhhhhhh . . . ooooohhhhhh . . . " she moaned. He was nothing but sensuality. The forward motion of his hips sank him to the hilt once again. Then out again, slowly, ever so slowly. He dipped his head to mouth her nipples some more. Long, slow swipes of his tongue caused her to squeeze him tightly where he was sheathed inside her. It shocked him in a very good way.

_God, but she was tight. _And when she clamped down on him; ohhh . . . the never ending stimulation to his cock made it all but impossible to last as long as he wanted to. He graduated from rocking his hips to pumping them, then thrusting. Her head was thrown back, and he took the opportunity to nibble between her jaw and throat, sucking too, making a noise that was half growl and half groan.

He surprised himself. He came hard, and he didn't have much warning. He yelled out, not able to quell it. His eyes, although they glazed over, never left hers. He pumped everything he had into her, and she clenched him tightly inside once more, making him vocalize zealously.

She milked him from within, the contractions escalating, and then finally ebbing. He let out a mighty breath.

He apologized. "The moment was so sweet, and so intense that I suddenly had no control," he admitted. She petted his hair, allowing its softness to caress her palm.

He went down on her then, tucking his hands under her butt to pull her up to his mouth to have full access. His tongue working between her folds, he felt her shudder. She rolled her hips, half out of her mind with desire, yet distantly remembering he'd just come in her. The idea was so sensual—so heady. He tongue fucked her, not the least bit inhibited by the fact that he was getting his own ejaculate along with the creamy proof of her raging desire.

His fingers now up at her nipples, rolling them as he sucked her clit made her come as quickly as he had. She was just as vocal as he had been, her back bowed, crying out his name; and not until after things had finally quieted down, their breathing was back to normal and they had both collapsed in complete fulfillment did she remember Peter in the room right next to them.

"Oh my God, Peter had to have heard us," she said softly.

"He'll survive," answered Davy. "Even if he has to . . . find relief of his own. This should make it up to him, because I don't think they have the x-rated movie channel here that he asked me about earlier." They both laughed.

* * *

The next morning, Deanna couldn't meet Peter's eyes for a while. But it didn't last long. She felt an ease with Peter that tempered the embarrassment. He was so nonjudgmental. His quiet acceptance made her throat tighten just a little bit. He was everything and more than Davy had said he was.

Peter made extra sure he didn't give anything away. The moans, groans, the cries he'd heard; it had made him crave that for himself. He'd heard Davy with girls before, after he'd left the bedroom to give them privacy, but this was somehow different. It had sounded so much more intense.

Peter would not have taken Deanna to be a wild woman, not even in bed, but then, he didn't have a whole lot of experience. This, however, made him_ want _experience. He didn't know if nice girls could be wild in bed. He really didn't know the rules at all. But the thought of the possibility of it was beyond his wildest dreams. He wanted to feel what Davy had been feeling last night.

They took Peter scuba diving, to watch the hula dancers, and pretty much everything they had done when they'd first come to Maui. Even the harrowing drive over the narrow roads with steep drop-offs that Deanna thought she'd never have to face again. Davy, being at least a little familiar with the road now, was extra careful, and they made sure they drove it in daylight. They got a kick out of seeing the expression on Peter's face when he saw all the different colors the sand could be. They experienced the thrill of it all over again through him.

It was the fourth day Peter had been there that the three of them were sitting on the beach, in beach chairs, talking, with Davy's chair between Peter and Deanna that Deanna noticed that Davy's legs were not only touching hers, but Peter's also. She'd never seen this kind of behavior in males before, and she had trouble tearing her eyes away. His leg casually touched hers on a daily basis, but then, they were boyfriend and girlfriend. Peter didn't move his leg, and neither one seemed the least bit uncomfortable about the contact.

Other subtle things that weren't overtly obvious began to pop up as the days went by. Davy and Peter touched much more often than American men normally did, or were supposed to. Or British men either, for that matter. Sometimes when they would have a card game at night in Davy and Deanna's room before Peter went to his room, Davy or Peter would ruffle the others' hair, and the hand would sometimes linger for a few long seconds, as if it were being greatly enjoyed by both parties. Deanna also saw the look of admiration on Peter's face when Davy would get dressed up for dinner, and vice versa. The two guys also practiced an inordinate amount of eye contact. She wanted to bring it up to Davy, but she didn't know how to broach the subject. Really, how would she word it? He might seriously take offense for all she knew.

They went out drinking too, because that was part of the night life. Deanna and Davy both loved to dance, and Peter watched most of the time because of his inherent shy nature. They were sitting at a table, and had to turn their chairs to see the band. Their chairs were very close together, but no one made the move to separate them. Davy was in the middle, and Deanna became aware that every time Peter got up to get drinks, or go to the restroom, his chair somehow ended up even closer to Davy's. Their legs were touching again, but neither broke the contact. This was just weird.

Damn it to hell, if he didn't have a boner again! And this time he had no luck tamping it down. Sitting this close to Deanna triggered it every time. It felt good, snuggled between Deanna and Peter. Warm and sweet. His best friend and his girlfriend. Davy was afraid someone would notice his condition. Oh well, it was natural though, wasn't it? Deanna turned him on. That's all it was.

* * *

Peter had been physical with Davy for a long time, but Davy had allowed it. At first, when the guys had moved in together, Davy had wondered what the hell was going on, but had come to the conclusion that Peter was just naturally affectionate, and that is exactly what he said when Mike and Micky had mentioned it to him in private.

"It's just the way he is," he'd tried to explain.

"Yeah, but why only you?" asked Mike, looking very skeptical.

"We share a bedroom," Davy had said, then wanted to bite his tongue. "So . . . " he went on quickly. "I guess he kind of latched onto me." That still didn't sound right, but Davy had no plausible explanation for Peter's behavior.

The guys had eventually accepted it. After all, Davy dated regularly, and went steady too with the lady of the hour, whomever she might be at the moment. So Mike and Micky didn't suspect anything funny going on. And nothing was. Going on, that is. As far as Davy knew, Peter just enjoyed spending time with him and was just a touchy-feely type of guy.

But Deanna _wasn't_ used to it. Davy kept ordering drinks, and as the night progressed, Peter got even friendlier than usual. When he was talking, he would lay his hand on Davy's leg for a fraction of a second, as if making a point in the conversation, but Deanna was too sharp to be fooled by that. She noticed a pattern. Whenever Peter saw an opportunity, he took it. She made a mental note to talk to Davy about it, whether it was uncomfortable or not. She had to find out why Davy was so seemingly heedless about it.

It didn't set off any alarms with her though. If Peter and Davy were, in fact gay, they would be together, and Davy would never have pursued her. He wouldn't be so damn good in bed, so experienced with a woman's body, and she wouldn't have been invited to Hawaii with him. So she told herself she was being ridiculous, and shouldn't even let a thought like that enter her mind.

With some effort, Deanna talked Peter onto the dance floor a few times. He was awkward with slow dancing, and broke out in a cold sweat from nerves. He kept apologizing for stepping on her feet. She felt empathy for him and guided him as best she could. He however, liked fast dancing, and seemed to be enjoying himself so much that he would have also gotten Davy's share of the dances if Davy had not gently but firmly pried Deanna away from him.

Davy got more tipsy than Deanna had ever seen him before, but she chalked it up to the excitement of having his best friend here, which was, in fact, the truth. Davy was nothing short of adorable when he had a buzz, and was even funnier than usual. He didn't get sloppy drunk, but he was most patently feeling good. They all were.

Peter almost dropped a drink on Davy when he tripped, which Peter, she was finding out, was very good at, and Davy said, "Don't do that," and both guys laughed. She didn't get the joke. But she guessed she'd have to learn to put up with inside jokes from these two.

At the end of the evening, they left the club and walked back to the hotel which was conveniently close, and they had known they would be drinking, so had left the jeep behind. Davy got a little off balance as they entered Davy and Deanna's room, falling against Peter, and then giggling. That giggle was priceless. He was acting all cute, and somehow it turned Deanna on. Peter caught him, holding onto him a little longer than necessary, then looked slyly at Deanna and said, "I love it when that happens."

Deanna was temporarily stunned. Jarred. Wordless.

_Did he just say that?_

So it appeared it hadn't been her imagination after all. It seemed Peter could very well have a slight crush on Davy. She didn't know if Davy had heard Peter's comment, but evidently he hadn't, as he started to talk about Molokai, and how much he missed it. He was also semi-mauling Deanna between sentences. In a sweet way, with no inappropriate touching, but it still made Deanna's blood run hot. It was an awkward situation to say the least.

"Hey, fellows . . . I mean, Deanna and Peter," Davy said, apparently forgetting he wasn't back at the Pad. "We only have about ten days left in Hawaii, man. If we're gonna take you to see Molokai, Pete, we'll have to plan when."

"Like I said, anytime is fine for me. I love Hawaii so far, but I'm not digging the crowds, and you guys said you aren't either," Peter was quick on the trigger. Deanna smiled to herself. He was about as subtle as a freight train.

"Well if you aren't diggin' it, and we aren't diggin' it here, then let's go ASAP!" Davy was all gung-ho now. He looked at Deanna, his slightly unfocused gaze telling her he was still absorbing that last drink he'd had.

"Fine with me," she said. "I'm game to go anytime."

"Then tomorrow!" Davy took the initiative. Both Peter and Deanna had been secretly hoping for that, yet neither had spoken up. And Davy, with some booze running in his veins, had thrown any hesitation to the wind.

Davy wanted her something fierce. He wanted Peter to leave. Now that he knew they'd be going to Molokai tomorrow, he wanted to be alone with Deanna. Alone to celebrate their return to Molokai. But he didn't know how to tell Peter it was time to call it a night. He was getting more buzzed all the time.

He shouldn't have had that last drink. Hell, he'd already stumbled into Peter. Or more like fallen into him. He didn't want Deanna to see him drunk. He knew it wasn't becoming. But it was creeping up on him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Suddenly, something spouted from his mouth that surprised even him.

"I want dessert," he said. Seemed like a clever thing to say at the time, but Deanna and Peter stared at him in confusion.

"You already had dessert. Pineapple upside down cake, remember? I know it wasn't tonight, but with all the booze . . . " Peter began.

Davy interrupted him. "No, not that dessert, but I want dessert," and he looked pointedly at Deanna, who realized what he was saying, and cried, "Davy!"

"Um . . . see you guys in the morning," and Peter was out that door in two seconds flat.

Deanna tried to gather and steady herself, but she didn't succeed.

"Why did you say that?" she said, disbelief still spinning inside her head. She was jarred to the bone.

"I didn't know how else to get him to leave. I'm sorry, Deanna. The drinks must have loosened my tongue a little."

"A_ little_? How will I ever face Peter tomorrow?"

_Here we go again._ Embarrassing moments concerning Peter seemed to be becoming habitual.

"He's seen me wasted before. He knows I get mouthy when I tie one on."

"You don't understand why I'm so embarrassed! It's not about Peter knowing how you act when drunk, but what you said _about me_!" Deanna was still horrified, and a little angry too.

"I didn't say anything about you. I only said I wanted dessert."

She threw her hands up. Okay, she should just stop trying to reason with him. You can't reason with alcohol. She'd wait until morning to give him hell.

It wasn't as late as Deanna had thought it was—only half past midnight. She undressed Davy and got him into bed. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't walk, but just as she had suspected he would, he was out like a light as soon as he was settled in bed. She tucked him in and kissed his forehead. He was doing that cute little snore that had charmed her the first time they'd slept together.

She was too wound up to sleep, so she settled in a chair, reading a paperback book she'd bought when they'd been out that afternoon, hoping she'd get sleepy eventually.

Then she heard a slight sound, a sort of muffled click, and she looked up. It was probably one of the hotel patrons leaving their room, she told herself, but she still felt uneasy. Davy wasn't exactly in the kind of shape to protect her. But then she remembered Peter was in the room right next to them, only steps away, and that helped to settle her nerves.

Not long after that, however, she heard footsteps right outside her window. Just another hotel patron not able to sleep, she told herself. She should just go to bed with Davy, but she knew if she did, she'd be just be listening for more noises.

The footsteps got closer, and she ducked behind the window, admonishing herself inwardly for not closing the curtains. As soon as the footsteps continued past the window and faded away, she closed the curtains with jerky movements and a quivering hand. All was quiet again but just as she started to relax, the footsteps came back from the opposite direction. They could be casing the room, planning on trying to get in. The blood began to pound in her temples.

Peter! Afraid to go outside to Peter's door, she ran to the phone and asked the switchboard for Peter Tork's room. She let it ring eight times. No answer. _Great. Just great_. No one to protect her, and someone outside. She almost jumped out of her skin when there came the slightest tap on the door. Okay, now they _were _trying to get in! Probably trying to slip a credit card or something in the door to cause the lock to release. Now the blood was pulsing in her temples triple time.

She was just about to go and try to rouse Davy, who still looked out cold, when she heard Peter's hushed voice through the door.

"Deanna?"

Thank God! Blessed relief enveloped her. She opened the door and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

"Oh Peter! I was so scared! Davy's crashed out, and I heard noises. I tried to call your room, but there was no answer!"

Peter chuckled. "I'm sorry. It was me you heard. I'm too wide awake to sleep, so I've been walking up and down the deck. Then I saw you looking out of the window like you were scared. So after debating it for a while, I decided to tap on your door."

Deanna sighed deeply. "That explains why you didn't answer your phone."

"So you tried to call me? You really_ were_ scared." Peter looked regretful. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She waved his comment off in dismissal. "I just tend to get ideas in my head, and it grows all out of proportion. Being in a strange place doesn't help either."

"Yeah, I can dig that. So David didn't hear me knock? I tried to knock really quiet."

"I don't think much would wake him right now," said Deanna.

Peter smiled. "Yeah, he doesn't get drunk often, but I do know he'll be out for the rest of the night. By the way, why can't you sleep?" he asked.

"Oh, still keyed up from tonight."

"You aren't mad at David are you?" Then she remembered Davy's comment about wanting dessert.

"No . . ." She didn't know what else to say. That old familiar blush that had faded at least moderately from her life returned to flush her face once again. All she could think of was Peter picturing Davy going down on her. _Dessert._

"He doesn't normally say things like that; not in front of women," Peter was clearly trying to reassure her that Davy wasn't a crude person. She already knew that, of course, but she merely nodded.

Peter realized he'd never get a better opportunity than now.

"I think now might be a good time . . . to talk," Peter seemed to be focused on a spot somewhere above her head, no doubt avoiding her eyes, and he was also suddenly diffident and almost meek.

"Oh, well, sure," this was easily the last thing she was expecting, but she sensed he needed to disclose something.

"Want to go into my room? That is, if you feel comfortable doing that." She could see Peter was struggling to retain his composure, and she couldn't imagine why. Something must be really troubling him. She knew without a doubt that he'd be a gentleman, so she wasn't worried in the least about going into his room.

When they got there, even though Peter was still a little buzzed, his anxiety came pouring out in all manner of ways. She sat in one of the two chairs in the room, he in the other. He was bouncing his foot in a rhythmic manner, fidgeting, flipping his head to free the lustrous hair from his eyes, and drumming his fingertips on the tabletop, all at the same time. He was making her dizzy with all the activity. She reached out and stilled his fingers with the flat of her palm.

"You're nervous," she stated somberly. Trying to extinguish her buzz, she looked at him closely. She could see they were both clear-headed enough despite being slightly high. Clear-headed enough to have a conversation where sagacity might have a ghost of a chance, even taking into consideration their young age. Together, they might be able to drum up some wisdom for a halfway decent conversation, she mused to herself.

"Well, I might as well tell you why I need to talk to you," he said, trying to fill in the gaps, but only succeeding at being redundant. She was in his hotel room for just that purpose, and paying attention, for God's sake!

He cleared his throat, wiped his damp hands on his pants.

"David . . . David and I are best friends, which I'm sure you know. But . . . with him having a steady girlfriend-you, of course, well, I feel like I should say something . . .

Okay, well, where was this leading? She looked on with interest and growing alarm as he gulped from his glass of water.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like some water?" he asked. She shook her head in the negative.

_Get to the point, Peter!_ She felt like screaming it, but she put on her patient face and acted as if they had eons to discuss this mystery subject.

"I feel guilty, kinda sneaky too," Peter's face was so expressive that she could actually see the remorse there.

"What about?" she blurted out, without waiting for him to continue. He was being so reluctant and timid that she feared she'd never get it out of him.

"David and I have something that I don't think most friends have."

Well, that was quite a statement. But just what did it mean?

"We're, um . . . I mean . . . I . . . " Peter was faltering, and it was becoming crystal clear to Deanna that he was losing his nerve.

He tried again. "It's all me . . . David has no idea . . . " Peter's neck and cheeks were becoming ruddy as if he had a sunburn, and she watched his Adam's apple bob with his apprehension.

"Peter, you need to be a little more clear."

"I know. But however I say it . . . it'll probably come out wrong. I mean, it might not sound right."

Peter did everything he could to delay the inevitable. Deanna never knew there were so many tactics to deflect another person, but Peter apparently knew them all. He coughed, he arranged his shirt, he got up, paced a few steps and sat down again.

"David doesn't know it, but . . . he makes me . . . lose my head . . . completely."

_Lose his head . . . okay. _

She supposed that could mean a lot of things. Her mind played with the possibilities. But her instincts told her exactly what it meant, although she didn't want to admit it. Not wanting to face it wasn't going to work though. It would only be denying something that she had a hunch wasn't going to go away. At least not any time soon. Still, she would not let herself believe it. She _wouldn_'t believe it until she heard it straight from Peter's mouth.

"Lose your head," she said aloud, repeating his words because she didn't know what else to say.

"Let me try to explain . . . in a way, I'm glad we're able to talk alone tonight, because, I don't . . . want David hearing it."

Deanna was now thoroughly addled. She shrugged her shoulders, signaling Peter she was lost. Because she really _was_ lost. How could Davy possibly _not _know he made Peter lose his head?

"David has a lot of girls that pay attention to him. Or more like . . . they chase him incessantly."

Oh no. Was he going to warn her about the girls? As if she didn't already know about it. That Davy could end up hurting her—yeah, she still thought about it at times, even though he'd asserted his love for her. It was hard not to, remembering how they'd have slathered wet, sloppy kisses all over him if they'd been able to grab the chance.

"I know about that."

"Well, what I mean to say is . . . it's not only girls that find him hard to resist."

If she were addled before, she was completely bewildered now. Was he really going to say what she feared?

"What in Heaven's name . . ." she said quietly, almost to herself.

"Bear with me—this is hard for me. You're his steady girlfriend now, of course. I realize that. But I wanted to . . . I don't want to be disrespectful to you." Peter was losing heart; he looked so tired, and, in a way, tortured. He also looked so heart breakingly sincere.

But he seemed to be speaking in riddles, and getting exactly nowhere.

"How are you being disrespectful to me?" She asked, feeling sorry for him, yet like throttling him for not just coming out with it.

"In the fewest words I can think of . . . in my mind, I've made love to David at least a hundred times . . . on stage, off stage, and just about everywhere else, and he doesn't even know it."


	20. Chapter 20

Deanna couldn't find her voice. She didn't know if she even had one left. Words wouldn't form, even if she'd known what to say. Her surroundings were suddenly surreal, outlandish. She seemed to be caught in a dream that wasn't pleasant or unpleasant. It just _was._

_Okay, so Peter had stated a fact. He had just confessed to making love to Davy in his mind. Many, many times._

They sat and stared at each other. A maelstrom of questions caused turmoil in her mind. She wanted the answer to all of them, and none of them. She could hardly feel her extremities for the numbness. Numbness not caused by the alcohol, but Peter's words.

_So Davy didn't know._ About any of what Peter had apparently been dreaming about for God knew how long. Or maybe he just didn't _want _to know.

"This is why I was glad . . . we had this chance to talk tonight. Like I said, I respect you, and I felt you needed to know the score. It wouldn't be fair otherwise, to hide it from you. Also like I said, David doesn't know . . . how I feel about him. You won't tell him . . . will you?" The anxious look on Peter's face jolted her back to the moment.

"But wait, first . . . are you upset with me?" he added.

How does one answer such a question? When you are still reeling with a truth that you weren't sure you even wanted to know? She was flabbergasted, staggered. Yet it was all coming together now. The touching, the smiling, the staring. It was all making sense. At least on Peter's part.

As for Davy, well, she didn't know what to think. He'd played into it too, although he wasn't quite as obvious as Peter. The reality cut right through Deanna. Did Davy feel the same way about Peter? Or was he just tolerating it? Even so, his participation seemed to nix that idea. Maybe his was simple affection?

So many unanswered questions that kept hounding her. Why had he allowed it all this time if he was straight? Why did he return the stares? Why hadn't he addressed Peter about it? She couldn't fathom why he hadn't. Perhaps they'd eased too close to the edge, and it had become a pattern that had stuck.

"Um, Peter. I won't tell Davy, and I'm not upset . . ." but no more words would come. It wasn't Peter's fault. She was lucid enough to know that. He couldn't help how he felt. And he'd come to her to confess. She had to admire that. Another thing was, he'd known Davy a lot longer than she had. So really, did she have any right to be upset? She couldn't even figure out if she _was _upset. Maybe there was a more descriptive word for how she felt, but it eluded her.

"I've ruined your vacation! I shouldn't have come when David invited me. It was just too much . . . temptation. I'd never been to Hawaii, and with David here too . . . it was impossible to say no."

His soft expression, his bald honesty floored her. No wonder Davy was so fond of him! How could you not be?

"No, Peter. You haven't spoiled our vacation. We've had a wonderful time so far, the three of us. It took a lot of courage for you to tell me about this. But, you do know that Davy has to be informed, don't you?"

Peter looked horrified, like a mouse must look when it realizes the hawk is sweeping down upon it.

"No!" he cried. He looked on the verge of flight, hunted, just like the proverbial mouse. Or perhaps an insect hopelessly caught in a spider's web. Trapped and no way out. And the more he struggled, the more firmly entangled he became.

Deanna spoke calmly and slowly in an attempt to work around Peter's fears, and hopefully ease them.

"But Peter, he must know already. How can he not know how you feel?"

"I dunno. Maybe he's in denial, or something."

Deanna nodded slowly. Peter was insightful. She guessed denial was possible.

"But Davy has never said a word to you about it?" she queried, still fascinated/horrified/perplexed by this whole thing.

"No."

There was no reason for Peter to lie at this point. Absolutely none. He'd told her this much—if there were more, she really doubted he'd hold it back. He was in too deep already.

Next, Deanna tried to find out all she could. The more knowledge she had, the better armed she was.

"Girls, Peter? Haven't you had an interest in girls?"

"Well, yeah. But girls are complex. David's not."

Wise words. Perceptive words. Deanna's brow furrowed as she mulled this over. That was something she couldn't argue about. It was true enough that Davy was straightforward, candid and frank.

"Okay, well, is it possible you've transferred your desire for girls over to Davy because he's so . . . accessible? I mean, you live with him, sleep in the same room."

"No," Peter shook his head with what looked like a rock solid stance on the subject. If unprotesting, tractable Peter could take a stand like that, he must believe it.

"I like girls _and _David. Not just one or the other."

Deanna then started to wonder if it could simply be a case of hero worship. But then, she'd seen Davy get physical with Peter with her own eyes. So it wasn't all one-sided. He might not get as demonstrative as Peter, but he certainly wasn't discouraging Peter either. She'd seen him actually lean into Peter's touch. He didn't seem one bit afraid to touch Peter himself, even though it wasn't as ardent.

She was starting to feel slightly sick to her stomach. Here Davy had told her he was in love with her, and she'd done the same. Then Peter goes and reveals this shocking fact. She had no clue what she was going to do—what she_ wanted_ to do about it. Did Davy just assume she'd accept it? Confronting Davy with it would be relatively easy. She could pretend Peter hadn't told her, and just ask Davy why the two of them acted so cozy. Or she could insist Peter talk to Davy about it. At least get it out in the open, even though she still was not convinced whether she should get involved.

But right now, she was bone weary. The drinks, the fact that Davy was drunk, and now Peter's disclosure was all just too much to take in. It felt as if her fairy tale romance had shattered, the tiny sparkling pieces circling her, dancing above her head, mocking her.

"I think I'd better go back to the room with Davy now," she said weakly, getting up and heading for the door.

"I'm sorry, Deanna. I truly am. I wouldn't ever want to break you guys up. As if that would even happen . . . " he mused out loud. "David is totally into you, and I hope you don't doubt it."

She supposed Peter had no idea that she and Davy had admitted their love for each other, but she couldn't bring herself to mention it. It might hurt Peter. And what difference would it make anyway? The facts wouldn't change—Peter's feelings wouldn't change.

"Were you planning on . . . a future with Davy?" Deanna suddenly had to know. She saw his spine stiffen, and Peter froze, looking as if he'd never even considered it before.

"No . . . no, of course I didn't. He's always been nuts about girls. I never thought I had a chance. And I still don't. I want you guys to be happy. You do know that, don't you Deanna?"

Deanna couldn't answer. She was too mired in the proverbial mud that was sucking her down, dreading the feeling of being smothered by it. Bad timing. Why did this have to happen now?

_A man. _

She had competition, and it was another man. Hard to conceive of, and she felt faintly sick again. She didn't say another word. Didn't even say good night to Peter. She just opened the door and walked out of Peter's room, and back to Davy.

* * *

In the morning, Peter was gone. Without a trace.

Deanna awoke before Davy for once and had started coffee, planning on going next door to see if Peter was up and invite him over for a cup before they went out for breakfast. She hadn't planned on mentioning last night at all. She was, in fact, going to act just as she had before he'd made his confession, and leave the rest up to him.

She'd felt real regret at not bidding Peter good night last night. She had owed him at least that much after he'd put himself out on a limb, made himself so vulnerable, at her mercy when he'd known full well she could have torn him apart emotionally. It had taken her half the night to go to sleep.

To top it off, a suddenly amorous Davy had begun to run his hands up and down her sides just as she'd finally gotten almost to the edge of sleep at around three A.M.

"Get away from me!" she'd cried.

Davy, not used to this kind of outburst from her had figured she was still upset about his_ dessert_ comment, and kept his hands to himself so she could get a whole, whopping four hours of sleep. Her dreams had been vaguely disturbing, although she couldn't remember the content, just the hurt in Peter's gentle hazel eyes.

Davy had stirred when he'd smelled the coffee, and Deanna had asked him to invite Peter over. Masking his hangover, he'd padded over there in his slippers to find Peter gone. When they had checked with the office, they were told he'd checked out an hour earlier.

"What the hell?" Davy was truly rattled. "Peter wouldn't do something like this. Something is wrong!" He had grabbed Deanna by the shoulders, an imploring look on his face as his suddenly very alert brown eyes drilled into her regretful gray ones.

"Sit down, Davy," she practically had to shove him into a chair in their room, curbing him from making a mad dash to who-knows-where in search of Peter.

"I know why he's gone, Davy. He and I talked last night . . ."

"Yeah, okay, and?" There was not a trace of suspicion on this amazing man's face. She sensed he had complete trust in herself and Peter—his friends. There was love there, and no room for jealousy.

How was she going to go about this? No way was she going to tell Davy of Peter's crush on him. She would not betray Peter in that way. No one but Peter should be breathing a word of that.

"I upset him. I cut him off by walking away. I can't tell you about it though. It wouldn't be fair to Peter."

"I don't understand . . ." Poor Davy. Deanna's heart ached for him, but it ached equally for  
Peter. Peter was out there somewhere—who knew where. The jeep was gone, and of course, so were the keys. How Peter had gotten them was a mystery. But Deanna had been so distraught last night that she could have left the door unlocked, and after she'd finally gone to sleep, he must have slipped into their room and taken them.

Davy didn't push Deanna any further for details. His main concern right now was clearly Peter. As if in answer to the jeep dilemma, the jeep itself drove up minutes later, followed by another jeep. A man stepped out, asked for David Jones, and when Davy identified himself, handed the keys over.

"A guy told me to bring the vehicle back to you," he said with no further explanation.

"Where was he?" asked Davy.

The guy shook his head. "Not at liberty to tell you that."

Davy's eyes flicked to Deanna's.

"He was upset enough to just leave like that?" Davy practically demanded of Deanna after the guy had gotten into the passenger seat of the second jeep and the driver had roared off.

"I guess so. Like I told you, I sort of just walked away when I should have stayed and talked to him longer."

"Well, let's go find him," said Davy, as if that would be a simple thing to do. There were so many miles, so many places he could be. He might have rented his own jeep. There were seven hundred twenty-seven square miles on Maui alone, and countless beaches where Peter could have gone. Even then, that was only in the event that Peter didn't take a ride in a kayak to another island. He could have headed to the big island of Hawaii, twenty-six miles away, or to Lanai. The possibilities were too many.

The level of distress Davy exhibited to Deanna was completely novel to her where he was concerned. She saw a side of Davy she hadn't known existed. She watched as a plethora of unnumbered emotions crossed his face. Everything from almost full-on panic to near apathy.

"Where do we begin looking, though?" Deanna was trying to be reasonable and cool-headed, but Davy was way beyond that. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming fast.

"I wonder how much it would cost to hire someone to look for him? Like a private detective?" Davy's voice had a critical, almost desperate quality to it.

"Davy, that would cost a fortune, and you know it."

"Nothing can happen to Peter! I don't care if you two had an argument. I don't care. All that can be worked out. I just don't want anything bad happening to Peter; and remember he's not familiar with anything here, or even the customs. What if he insults someone? Gets beat up? Gets lost? What if he gets robbed? Without money he won't have a place to stay . . ." Davy was rapidly working himself into a lather.

"First, we didn't have an argument. He thought I was upset, I think, when I just needed time to reflect." That was as close as she could come to telling Davy anything. This was something Peter and Davy needed to work out, and she needed to keep her nose out of it.

It was during this anguished time for Davy that Deanna studied his mannerisms and his apparent angst, and it clicked in Deanna's head how much Davy really cared for Peter. He probably cared for him a whole lot more than he even knew himself. It was the kind of thing a woman picks up on, and men struggle with. Because men too often erect their armor and resist the very thing they long for. Forever in denial when it came to sensitive, controversial matters of the heart.

And then it dawned on her. She didn't know why, how or where it came from, and there was really no solid logic in it, but she had a very strong intuition that she knew where Peter was headed, or where he possibly already _was._

"Davy! Listen, this is really a wild shot in the dark. Keep that in mind, but . . . I think I have a hunch where Peter might be. I think we should go to Molokai. He knows all three of us want to be there, and I have a gut feeling, an intuition, if you will . . . I might be completely wrong, but I think we should at least check."

"No, I don't think he'd go there by himself," Davy looked so bummed out that Deanna's heart contracted. "And if we went there, and he was looking for us here . . . we might never cross paths with him at all."

"You're going to have to trust me on this, Davy. We can go there just long enough to see if he's there. If he's not, we can head right back."

Davy squared his shoulders. If he were to put his faith in anyone's instincts, Deanna would be a top choice. And it couldn't hurt to try.

"If you really feel he might be there . . . then let's do it. I don't know what this is all about, but I trust I'll find out from you or Peter, or both. But right now, finding Peter takes priority. Let's shove off as soon as we can."

Davy had a task, and he was a man on a mission. He wasted no time.

They gathered their clothes, shoved them in suitcases, grabbed the tent, and went shopping for supplies. By the time they were done, it was early afternoon. After a quick lunch on the run, they stood at the shore, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hands, asking around if anyone had seen Kapena lately.

The general consensus was that Kapena should be back in the area around three o'clock. That would give them plenty of time to get to Molokai and then back again if needed, before dark. That is, if Kapena didn't have other people booked for his services in that time frame. That would be their main obstacle. They'd just have to keep their fingers crossed.

Kapena showed up a little before three, and his face spread into a big smile when he saw them.

"I had a feeling you'd be going back," he said, knowing how the couple liked their solitude.

"Well, actually, we had a friend come, and we think there's a chance he could be in Molokai," explained Davy.

Kapena remembered them mentioning how they had a friend coming. He looked bewildered.

"It's a long story, but there was a loss of communication, and we're trying to find him," Deanna loved the way Davy explained things so seamlessly, telling the truth, yet sparing the details.

"Well, I have enough time to take you there, as my next trip will be at five-thirty, and that's to Kahoolawe, so you're in luck." Davy and Deanna came close to hugging each other in relief, but refrained because Kapena might think they were peculiar. He was already scrutinizing them with his piercing blue eyes that were the same indescribable blue of the ocean.

"He thinks we're crackers," giggled Davy to Deanna quietly, demonstrating his first attempt at humor today. At least he'd stopped chomping at the bit so much, now that they were taking positive action toward finding Peter.

Things were going their way, and feeling luck was with them, they loaded Kapena's canoe, then stepped in and began rowing right along with Kapena like pros. They practically were by now.

The trip was not as smooth and uneventful as the other rides they'd taken with Kapena. The waters were rougher, and the waves menacing at times. Deanna was ready to beg Kapena to take them back a few times, but she held her tongue. Kapena was capable, and he and Davy were doing their best to keep the canoe under control. She watched in growing fear as the waves sloshed higher against the sides of the canoe than she thought they should for safety, and the rolling sensation was making her stomach feel queasy. She was too terrified they'd capsize though, to pay it much mind.

Davy's hangover, that had so far been brushed aside, took a beating from the rough water, and he downed a couple of aspirin when she wasn't looking—a difficult task while he was attempting to row against an unruly sea at the same time. Good thing he'd shoved them in his pocket this morning. He had made the best of his upset stomach earlier when they'd had a hasty take-out meal, by eating lightly, claiming he wasn't very hungry. But now the waves were intensifying his discomfort to the point to where he was afraid he might just upchuck his lunch. It surely would take him down a few notches on Deanna's popularity list.

Kapena was very alert, but didn't show a trace of consternation on his face. He'd traveled all over these waters for years, and Deanna knew that if it were possible to be secured in anyone's safekeeping in these waters, they could depend on him. She knew the drinking Davy had done last night must be making him feel wretched, but she saw no sign of it but for the fact that he was a little on the pale side.

As they finally neared the island of Molokai, after an hour's trip instead of the usual forty-five minutes, Deanna felt herself relax just a touch. The waters, like magic, calmed enough to make it possible to get the canoe up nearly to the reef without too much danger. But, alas . . . Peter wasn't there. At least not in this area. She and Davy swept their concentrated gazes over the landscape, but there was not a trace of him.

Of course they'd previously asked Kapena if he'd taken a blonde guy to Moloaki, and he had not, nor did he know of anyone else who had that morning or early afternoon. They could see no sign of a kayak or canoe having been dragged onto the sand where Davy and Deanna had pitched their tent last time they'd been here. It was one of the most desirable areas, according to Kapena, but they had no guarantee Peter would choose that same area.

Kapena did have to get back to Maui soon, but he agreed to spend a little extra time to see if maybe Peter had settled on a different area that was fairly easy to get to, considering the waters had been rough on and off all morning. If Peter had hired a kayak or canoe, the transporter would not be eager to spend much time searching for an ideal spot in the rough waters. He would not risk his boat or his life.

They looked at a couple of beaches that would be the most obvious choices, but all they found was utter, desolate desertion everywhere. And you couldn't see well in the thick grove of trees beyond the beach either, which only added to the growing hopelessness of their efforts.

"Okay, I guess I was wrong, Davy. I'm sorry. But I just had to look . . . I wouldn't have felt right if we hadn't."

Davy nodded, his dejected face advertising his gloomy state of mind. How she wished she could produce Peter—for the both of them. Make everything the way it had been before she and Peter had had their discussion last night.

Davy told Kapena that they might as well turn around, and the canoe groaned, as if in protest, as Kapena glided it as smoothly as he could into a U-turn and back toward Maui.

"What a drag," Deanna heard Davy mumble.

Deanna felt like sobbing. How could she have been so harsh with Peter as to make him feel as if he had to get away? As if he were unwanted?

Suddenly, Davy shouted out, startling both Kapena and Deanna.

"I see something!"

Deanna was thinking that with Davy's disappointment he must be slightly delusional, because when she looked in the direction he pointed, she didn't see anything. Not at first, but then her eyes made out something dull green amongst the banana and coconut trees, and then a figure that had been motionless was now moving toward the green object that now looked like what must be a tent.

When Deanna saw the shock of golden hair glimmering in the sun, she knew it had to be Peter. He might have seen the canoe turn around and figured they had given up after not finding him, or maybe he hadn't seen the canoe at all. His movement though, had given him away. It didn't matter though—they'd found him. And what a stroke of luck it was, considering all the potential places he could have been on this island. The odds had been against them, and Deanna sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

Kapena and Davy worked to get the boat to shore and as close to Peter's tent as possible, but the sea wasn't cooperating. It was being erratic—fairly calm one minute, and unpredictable the next. Smashing into the coral would be disastrous. They had a few close calls that almost tore a scream or two from Deanna's mouth. Peter eventually saw them and their struggle, and ran to the shore, waiting to do anything he could to help.

Once close enough, and out of danger of the corals, Davy and Deanna waved cheerily to him so he would know they weren't perturbed with him. The canoe inched closer and closer to shore until Davy and Kapena could safely hop off and ease it onto the sand, with Peter's help, unloading it quickly so Kapena could get back out before the sea became even more restless. It seemed to go in stages, only staying calm for short periods, and they worried for Kapena's safety for the corals.

"I think a weather system is coming in," said Kapena as he turned to leave. "The water tells the story, and those clouds too." He pointed to some ominous looking clouds to the east. "Looks like rain later on. It's coming this way. Make sure you stay in the tent," he added.

They waved to Kapena as he rowed back out, in a hurry to get to his next customer in time, and to try to beat the rain as well. When they realized he was out far enough so he was no longer in jeopardy from the corals, they turned to Peter, who was looking very doubtful of their feelings. Deanna knew exactly what was going on, and Davy was pretty much in the dark. Peter didn't yet know Davy was unenlightened.

"How did you know to come here?" was Peter's first question, after the tentative hugs had been doled out. Peter carefully avoided Davy's eyes.

"I had a feeling . . ." said Deanna, and Peter understood that she'd picked up on his plan of execution. Poor Davy was the only one who didn't have a clue about the reason for Peter's disappearance.

This area was around the corner from where Davy and Deanna had camped, and it was just as nice, if not nicer. More shade, and like the other camping spot, it also had an area to swim that was surrounded almost completely by coral.

"Okay, Pete. Ya gonna tell us why you left?" Davy's sometimes unnerving gaze hooked Peter's eyes and examined his face for clues.

"Come to my tent. We can talk," said Peter, hoping Deanna had not informed the Brit of his confession.

When they got to his tent, they saw it was a one-man design. They dumped their own tent, sleeping bag and supplies outside, and went inside to see Peter had his own stash of supplies that he'd brought. He must have been awfully busy this morning buying a tent, supplies, and chartering a ride here.

"Okay, you guys wanna catch me up on what caused you to leave last night, Peter?" asked Davy.

Peter realized then that he could be reasonably sure Deanna hadn't told Davy anything, and that gave him some solace. She had protected him. Yet, he knew he'd have to tell Davy sooner or later. Davy wouldn't let up on him until he knew what was up. It was just Davy's way. He was not happy until he had investigated every nook and corner of the workings of someone's mind, and their reasons for their actions. At least Peter would be able to tell Davy in his own way.

"Deanna and I talked last night . . ." began Peter. "And she turned real quick-like and walked back into you guys' room, and it caused me to believe she was upset. I felt like I was intruding . . . so I decided to come here."

Everyone was quiet while it sunk in, and then Davy spoke.

"And you knew, didn't you Peter, that we could very well come here looking for you?"

Peter didn't even bother to hang his head or try to deny it. He simply nodded. "It entered my head, but I had doubts you'd really do it."

"I wasn't angry or upset with you last night," explained Deanna. I was just . . . unable to talk, shaken up, I guess."

"Wait a minute here. You two must be joking! You're talking about something that leaves me out completely. What caused you to think you were intruding, Pete? And why were you shaken up, Deanna?"

Davy looked flustered and almost fed-up with having to wait to find out, and his two friends gazed at him with empathy, realizing they'd unintentionally excluded him.

"I'll um . . . leave you two alone for a little while," and Deanna discreetly left the tent, not wanting to put Peter in the position of having to repeat what he'd told her last night in front of both of them. It would be hard enough on him as it was, and probably humiliating.

_Oh shit, he was screwed._

He'd have to tell Davy now. He was absolutely not going to lie to Davy. He hadn't thought it would come to this; not this soon. He really hadn't thought they would think to look for him on Molokai. He had only planned on staying two days, maybe try to get his head together, and then go back to Maui. He hadn't really been prepared for this. He hadn't yet had time to think about what he'd say to Davy.

Deanna's reaction last night had worried him. She was not okay with it. At least, she hadn't been then. Unless she'd just been in shock. Either way, he was now faced with the almost creepy thought of telling Davy of his crush on him. David was girl crazy, and had been ever since Peter had known him. He might even take a swing at Peter. And Peter would understand if he did. Guys don't like having their masculinity threatened or questioned. So Peter steeled himself, just in case.

He flinched at the thought of a physical encounter, and Davy saw it.

"What's up, Peter?"

Davy had to wait a couple of minutes. Peter was gathering and cataloguing his thoughts. Organizing what he wanted to say, and how he was going to say it.

There was only one way to get it out, decided Peter, and that was to cut to the chase, get straight to the point.

"I admitted to Deanna last night that I have feelings for you. That I have had them for a while. Since way before her. I had to tell her because I didn't want her to feel like we were in competition for you. You know how women notice things . . . I didn't want her to hate me." Peter spewed it all out at once, about as subtle as a blast from a cannon.

Davy just sat there, thunderstruck. The silence was so thick, you could swim in it. It was a live thing—actively choking both of them.

Davy dragged his hand over his face, trying to comprehend this bizarre scenario. So Peter had feelings for him. He wasn't so thick as to think it was anything other than what it was. Peter had the hots for him, or was sweet on him, or some other equally horrifying thing along those lines.

He couldn't think about anything else—not even what might have been said last night, or how in the fuck Deanna had been able to deal with this on her own, without talking to him about it. She must be tormented down to the marrow.

Davy felt anger collecting in his chest, a slow-burning fire which scorched red hot when he breathed.

"Why the fuck . . . why the fuck, Peter, would you tell her something like that, even if it's true?" His eyes were storming, the thunderclouds in them readying for a deluge, along with all the other destructive things storms do. Just like the storm approaching outside the tent.

Davy was incredulous. Peter was no slacker—he had intelligence enough to know Davy would not have taken a girl to Hawaii unless she meant a lot to him. And now Peter was going to destroy what he and Deanna had worked so hard to get.

"You might as well set a fuckin' bomb off, because this is going to be the ruin of myself and Deanna!"

Peter just stared into space. He'd only been honest, but he had to admit he'd been extremely selfish. He should have stopped all the flirting with Davy. At least here in Hawaii. If he'd had a lick of sense, that's what he would have done, out of respect for Deanna. It would have been the honorable thing to do, and she might never have even suspected anything.

Instead, he'd let the cat out of the bag and now she probably thought they were a couple of fags, and would leave Davy because of it. And it would all be on his shoulders. He'd ruined not only their vacation, but very possibly Davy and Deanna's relationship.

He hadn't done anything right. He'd had his head up his ass—clueless to the harm he was doing. Why hadn't he thought it through before he'd blurted it out to Deanna? And why couldn't he have waited until they were back home? He'd wanted to get it off his chest temporarily, and selfishly forgetting the impact it would have on them. He hadn't wanted to hurt either Davy or Deanna, yet how could he have possibly have hurt them more?

They'd been nice enough to invite him here, and look how he'd blown it. Taking it apart piece by piece, he could see where he'd screwed up every inch of the way. It was a ritual—the way he'd acted with Davy at the Pad. It had become second nature, something that had seemed so natural between them. But acting that way here, in front of Deanna, was unspeakable—it had been graceless and improper. He was a monster, and he wouldn't be surprised if they both rejected him out of hand. He could end up losing the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life . . . David.


	21. Chapter 21

Meanwhile, outside Deanna got a better look at the angry clouds, and knew Kapena had been right—those clouds were headed quickly and resolutely in their direction. They'd have rain before long. She could smell it, and took deep, cleansing breaths of it, hoping it would temper her anxiety about what was happening inside Peter's tent. She hoped it wouldn't come to blows. There was tension in the air—she could feel it even out here. She likened it to a live electrical wire snapping back and forth.

Needing something to do, she began to set up the tent she and Davy had brought, hoping to keep her mind busy by concentrating on remembering how Davy had shown her to do it. It was also a good distraction, one she really needed right now.

* * *

"Peter, this is . . . difficult," stuttered Davy after he'd taken a few moments to gather himself and regroup. He sat down on Peter's sleeping bag then with slow, quavering movements as if he were a man more than three times his age.

"I'm sorry, man," he began. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so abrasive. But this is all so . . . disturbing. You see, Pete, this is a real eye-opener for me, you know. I didn't know you had . . . inclinations in that direction."

Peter tried to look at the situation through Davy's eyes, and realized how leery he himself would be if Davy had said something like that to him, especially if his feelings didn't match Davy's. Even though he knew Davy well, and trusted him, it could still absolutely be on the creepy side. This had been a big pill for Davy to swallow.

"I don't . . . have those . . . inclinations," he said. "This isn't much of an explanation, or any help toward getting you to understand, but, the fact is, I don't feel like this about other men."

Davy's attention and interest were whetted at this. He cocked his head slightly. "You don't?" Now he was more flummoxed than ever.

Peter shook his head. "No. My sexuality is geared toward women, just like you. But for some reason, you flip a switch in me. You electrify me."

Davy hid a smile at Peter's rather eloquent way of expressing himself.

"Only me?" Davy couldn't help feeling flattered, even though it felt like it was bad form considering the subject they were discussing. Peter nodded, watching Davy's delving brown eyes, trying to read them.

"Sit down, Peter," Davy knew Peter was reluctant to, so he scooted over, carving out an opening, giving Peter plenty of room.

Peter did as told. "Yep, only you," Peter answered Davy's question as soon as he had seated himself.

Davy was soundless for a minute as he reflected on the past. Then he slowly turned his head to Peter, sitting beside him, and said, "So it wasn't the music."

Now it was Peter's turn to be confounded. "Say what?"

"The music . . . I thought that was what caused those strange . . . sensations in me. You know . . . the rhythm, the tempo, the instrumentation, the words . . . and of course, your bass." He said the last two words with an emphasis that could almost be called reverence. "There's that feeling of closeness too."

Peter digested every word with an eye toward safekeeping Davy's words in a guarded place in his heart. Sounded to him like maybe Davy was feeling affectionate, yet also getting aroused when the band played together, although there was no way he was going to say that out loud.

"Well, I was certainly in the dark about that!" he said. Much safer choice of words.

"But I didn't . . . have an inkling it could be you causing it. Now you really have me wondering."

"Maybe the music played a part, cuz I've had those feelings too when we're playing."

Now Davy was getting scared. He was in love with Deanna—he _knew _he was, yet, here he and Peter were, reminiscing about feeling lusty when they were near each other, playing their music. And he had to admit—Peter stood right next to him when they played. So close that their faces came within inches of each other when they turned their heads to smile when the music sounded exceptionally good. Peter didn't have to stand quite_ that_ close. And neither did he.

Or when they laughed together. Their humor was similar. Not quite as goofy as Micky's, and not as dry as Mike's.

And when Peter had given him some basic lessons on his bass guitar, Davy had briefly wondered why he seemed to be having some trouble catching his breath when Peter leaned in close to place his fingers just so on the fret board.

The memories were pouring in now. All the little things that he hadn't paid that much attention to. He'd been denying it to himself all this time.

Yeah, he'd let himself assume it was the music that had that intoxicating effect on him, but in looking back, he could see a definite connection to Peter that had been there since early on. It was a summary of all the time they spent together, all the good times they'd had.

Oh God, he had to talk to Deanna! How could he have let her leave the tent, and be by herself at a time like this, when she must be feeling, well, left out. In a huge way. He sure hoped not.

"We have to talk to Deanna before we talk anymore to each other," he explained to Peter. "She's out there wondering what is on our minds, and probably worrying too."

Peter, natural empathy practically oozing from him, understood. Poor Deanna had to be scared she was going to lose Davy, especially considering they were in here alone, talking about the very thing she might well feel threatened about.

Davy and Peter emerged from the tent, and no one appeared to be bruised or bloody, and that was one hell of a relief to Deanna. Davy had a slightly flat, vapid look of numb shock on his face, and that didn't surprise her. Peter's confession had knocked him flat, just as it had her.

Davy and Peter took over with the erection of the tent, and just in time, as it began to pour shortly after. Deanna couldn't figure out what mood Davy was in, but he didn't seem to be overly distressed, even though he still had the flat affect. Neither did Peter, but Peter always seemed to have a permanent smile on his face, so that didn't shed much light on where the guys stood currently.

* * *

Later, as they sat in Peter's tent, the three of them eating cold canned beef stew out of paper bowls because they had no fire to heat it up, they danced around the subject that was on all their minds.

"I thought it was the music, you see," said Davy to Deanna. "Playing music can do some pretty powerful things to certain people. They feel connected, linked, in a way. I'd heard about it before, but wasn't sure what it was all about. Peter and I would smile at each other, and I felt odd, but I didn't put a label on it. Maybe I was afraid to . . . "

Peter picked up the slack. "I think we all feel it when we play, but with David and myself, well, it was in a whole different category."

Deanna hadn't known how to feel before, but now everything was becoming more complicated by the minute. Was Davy admitting he was attracted to Peter?

_What was she going to do with this? _

_Come on, guys. Just throw me out in the cold, now that you just realized you're gay._

She was beside her on the inside, but didn't let it show on the outside. She had to maintain some semblance of dignity and maturity, whether it killed her or not. And right now, it was killing her.

"I think it was brewing inside us for a very long time," said Davy.

"Years," agreed Peter.

_How could they talk about it like this—so casually?_

"Deanna," said Davy. "We need to talk about this alone. Peter, is it okay if we go to our tent?"

"Sure. But first, Deanna, um . . . I don't want you to think anything will change. I respect you and Davy are together, and I'm not going to try to . . . " but he couldn't find appropriate words to finish his endless stream of thoughts.

_And no wonder. _They were all still pretty much stunned over it all. Slammed up against a wall, and crumpled on the floor was how it felt.

Deanna nodded to Peter, then took Davy's hand, and they left the tent. Even though their tent was only feet away, they got pretty wet.

"Those are some big drops. Nothing like what we have in Malibu," said Davy, sitting down and pulling her down beside him.

"I know." They shared a towel, eyeing each other surreptitiously.

"Deanna, first, I want you to know that I still love you. And that I'm sorry I didn't realize I felt something for Peter so that I could tell you—warn you, before you and I got serious. I really, truly, didn't know."

Deanna spoke from her heart picking her words carefully. "I could tell, Davy, by the look on your face that you had no idea there were ah . . . sparks between you two. Peter just brought it out into the open, but regardless, it was there all along, and it was bound to surface sooner or later."

"Please don't tell me you don't want anything to do with me now . . . ?" Davy suddenly let his torment out, and without another word, he buried his face in her shoulder and began to cry softly. He was terrified—petrified of losing Deanna. They'd come so far, and he'd tried to nourish the relationship at every turn, with every gesture. Now this had emerged and he felt the threat to their love hanging over their heads, looming there like the clouds outside, and he allowed his tears to emulate the downpour.

Deanna held the back of his neck with one hand and the small of his back with the other, rubbing gently. She was caught off-guard by this very emotional display. Davy might be tough in many ways, but he was also susceptible. He was human.

"Of course I still want you, Davy," she crooned. He was shivering, and not from the rain, but from uncurbed emotion.

He'd held himself together until now, but seeing her effort to understand had broken him down. She was so sweet, so accommodating. He felt crushed in an instant, furious with himself, yet caring for these two people with explosive vexation that had him wailing from within. He was in love with her, and his feelings for Peter were conflicted. His affection and loyalty toward Peter couldn't be denied, but the other stuff . . . it filled him with consternation.

The future was looking pretty divergent right now. How could he possibly be in love with Deanna, and still harbor feelings for Peter?

"Let's go back to Peter's tent," said Deanna after Davy had pulled himself together enough to talk again without losing his voice to sobs.

"Why?" he asked.

"It's leaking in this tent," and she shook her head, spraying Davy with the evidence. So she'd been sitting there with the rain dripping onto the top of her head, letting him cry, without saying a word. A laugh escaped him.

* * *

The rain had stopped some time ago, and Davy and Peter, at Deanna's urging, had gone for a walk along the beach, conversing, exploring each other's minds, trying to unearth how this had all come about. And most importantly, how they were going to get a handle on it. At least, thought Davy, they were facing it head-on.

Peter was much more clear-headed and unburdened by the world than Davy. He didn't have a jaded bone in his body. He was able to lay things on the line, and making no bones about it, he told Davy what was in his heart. It was hard to listen to, but necessary. He told Davy of his attraction, his yearnings and longings in a diluted kind of way, but still leaving no room for doubt.

He didn't go into detail, but he knew that Davy was aware of the sexual excitement that he had experienced, wondering if Davy ever felt that way too, but would likely never let on about.

Davy wrangled with his inner battles, called upon his considerable dauntlessness to get him through this heart-to-heart with his best friend. He had to do it—for Peter, himself and Deanna. He had spunk and valor, and he was determined to use it. He _had _to use it. Otherwise he'd end up letting someone down. And perhaps most of all, he could easily let himself down if he didn't strive to be his own hero.

So he threw himself into it while Deanna waited in the tent, stewing, worrying and overthinking everything.

_Just her luck_. She had fallen for a guy who was attracted to another guy. This was precisely why she'd stopped dating before she'd met Davy. Something negative always happened, but this one beat out all the others out by a mile. Nothing common or ordinary about it. It was by far the most bizarre.

A shadow crossed the front of the tent, casting itself over her, and even though Deanna was lying facing the back of the tent, she knew instantly who it was. No one else made her skin prickle like that, put her senses on high alert, the feeling of anticipation trickling into her steadily. She took a deep breath, and felt internally, through no external sources, that it was Davy. No one else she knew had the kind of presence he had.

No matter how much time she spent with him, if they were separated, even if only briefly, she always got this feeling when he returned. Like a bottled-up kind of yearning. The warmth spread like warm desert sand being poured over her entire body as his shadow gradually covered her completely. The anticipation sizzled on her skin, and she turned over to see him standing over her, all alpha-like and sexy looking as hell.

The late afternoon sun played on his muscled biceps, as he was shirtless. His hairy legs tantalized her, the sculpted shape of them developed by riding fast, difficult horses for years, made her crave him, even though her thoughts were a tangle of disarray.

"Can you ever forgive me?" he asked. The silence immediately following his words pulsed in her head.

She sat up. "For that? What have you done wrong?"

Davy looked puzzled. "Nothing. But if I'd had any doubts at all about my feelings for you, believe me that I wouldn't have chased after you the way I did. I love you, Deanna."

"I love you too, Davy. But we have to face that there seems to be a . . . _complication _here."

"I know. What are your gut feelings about it? Because, frankly, I'm not wanting to mislead anyone. The fact remains though, that Peter and I have been 'flirting,' for lack of a better word, for ages. I don't know how that might affect you."

"Are you kidding?" Deanna raised her eyebrows. "You think I haven't noticed? It's something neither of you are good at keeping under wraps."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not so much in public, but semi-public and in private, yes. The thing is, Davy—I don't want you to try to be anyone other than what you are. That includes you 'flirting' with Peter. I want the real Davy, or no Davy at all," she said it with conviction, because she meant it.

"Peter's cute," she went on. "I can see why you'd be so attracted. But there's so much more to him. He has nice qualities besides the physical. He's intelligent, sweet, and considerate. Everything a person could want in a man."

"But I'm another man!" protested Davy.

"Doesn't matter," she countered. "Who says a person can't be attracted to both sexes?"

"But it's only Peter, not any other male. He said he felt that way too. I am the only male who attracts him too."

"I get that. And the last thing I want is for you to start repressing your emotions toward him. I don't want to be influencing you one way or the other. I want you to be yourself. And part of you is attracted to Peter. I want the whole package, not just part of it."

"What are you saying?" he eyes bored into her own. He wanted her precise thoughts. He was demanding it in his own way, but he didn't have to demand. The message was received, loud and clear.

"What I just said, Davy. I don't want you changing your behavior around Peter just because it's the three of us here now. Do you have strong doubts about your feelings?"

"Yeah. But not about you. I was, and am, drawn so much to you. I dig Peter, but I didn't think it went any deeper than that."

"But it does, doesn't it?" she pressed.

"Still not sure. Not even after Peter and I busted our guts for the last hour, squeezing every drop of insight we could from each other. I don't dig this. I can't leave you hanging and wondering, Deanna, I don't know what to do . . . "

"Then let's make it simple. You don't have to worry about anything because I want you just as you are. If you want me, you still have me. But don't change your habits with Peter, _please."_

Davy sighed and sat down next to her. "Okay then, I won't. But I don't want it upsetting you."

"It hasn't yet, has it?" she asked.

"It hasn't seemed to. But you didn't know the whole story before."

"Well, I do now. I just want this to evolve however it would have anyway. Davy, listen. I wouldn't ever want to come along and start calling all the shots, telling you what you can and cannot do, being bossy. I love you for what you are, regardless if you are attracted to Peter or not."'

She couldn't believe how _un-jealous_ she was being.

He seemed to finally get it, after experiencing a kind of dull haze ever since Peter had confessed. He felt selfish, even though he'd never done anything sexual with Peter, or even come close to it. But like she'd hinted at, he hadn't recognized the feelings before now. Those strange stirrings that had been so frequent that now it was hard to believe he hadn't realized it was more than mere fondness.

* * *

It had started to rain again.

"We're not gonna be able to fix that tear in the roof tonight. It's dark, and it's raining too hard. We'll all catch pneumonia. Besides, no one has a needle and thread, do they?" Davy searched Peter and Deanna's faces with his flashlight. They both shook their heads, squeezing their eyes closed against the brightness of the strong light.

"Sorry about that," Davy apologized, lowering the flashlight quickly as rain drops dripped from his hair and down into his eyes. Deanna shook herself to rid her mind of how appealing he looked when wet.

"Well, we'll all just have to sleep in Peter's tent tonight," Davy said simply, as he began grabbing their bags and suitcases, handing the sleeping bags to Peter and Deanna.

Deanna worked at laying out the sleeping bags so she wouldn't have to try to make conversation. What a day it had been. Searching for Peter on an unstabilized sea, finally finding him, hearing the news about the two guys, and now a leaky tent that couldn't be repaired—at least not tonight, and having to sleep in a small tent with the two of them, carnal thoughts hovering above their heads like something wicked that is restrained by a chain. It would take only one weak link to break the chain, and then who knew what might come about? Peter and Davy lashing out at each other would not be ideal while they were forced to be in close contact in the small tent. Of course, if it hadn't happened by now, it probably wouldn't, she reasoned.

Deanna doubted there was a shred of violence in either Peter or Davy that would be directed at each other, but it still made her tense. It was a very basic, animalistic instinct that men seemed to share in common with wild beasts.

_Competition._

But the guys weren't competing over a woman. So what would they be competing over? To see who could resist who the longest? Could that set off male aggression? She had no idea.

In this case, she and Peter were competing for Davy. Not literally, of course, but it was a really odd, almost funny thought. Deanna did however, know very well what was on Peter's mind, because she'd heard him say it in so many words. He wanted Davy. And it should have felt like a bad scene, but didn't because there was something she found in it that was very close to humor. Good God, was she losing her mind?

They talked in the near dark of the tent for a while before settling in to sleep.

"So how'd you get to Molokai, Pete?" asked Davy, having been curious about it, but with other things coming up, had forgotten to mention it.

"Oh, some grimy guy with a crappy, flimsy little kayak, is that what you call them?"

Davy nodded.

"Anyway, I didn't know if we'd make it here alive or not. I lost count of how many times we almost turned over. The whole experience scared me half out of my wits. All he cared about was smoking his cigarette, and had to stop rowing now and then to light another one from the previous butt. It was traumatizing, with the waves. And getting past the coral to the shore was like tempting fate every time we narrowly missed it. Man, it would've been a gas if it hadn't been my life that was on the line!"

Davy shook his head. "Gotta be more careful, babe. We used Kapena. He's well known all around the islands. At least he's safe, and he's been doing it for years."

"Yeah, I noticed you came in a canoe. Looked a whole lot safer."

"Even with Kapena it was dicey, but I can't imagine what you went through," reflected Davy. He could just picture Peter drowning out at sea, and that caused a sharp ache in his chest.

"And I stole the keys to the jeep from your room. I'm sorry about that," Peter looked dismayed.

"It's alright. Forget about it. At least you sent the jeep back," Davy smiled.

"We called Mike and Micky before we picked you up at the airport," Davy changed the subject upon seeing the regret returning to Peter's face. "Mike was cracking me up. I asked him how things were going, and he said, 'Well, considering ah've got Micky to contend with . . . alone, how do you_ think_ things are goin'?"

Peter tried to envision that in his mind. Mike making mostly futile efforts to keep Micky's energy level down enough to survive it. Because when Micky got weird and wild, it was _truly_ a matter of survival. And there was no one else there to subdue the wild beast, buffer the craziness, but poor Mike, who leaned more toward the quiet side. Nope, those two weren't a good match to be left alone together.

"Bummer for Mike," said Peter. "Oh, and by the way, David, you don't do a southern accent very well."

They all laughed. "And you do an even _worse _British one!" Davy shot back.

Davy and Deanna had also called everyone else. Deanna's mother was still fretting, although she was running out of steam. She had more or less accepted that Deanna would come home when she was ready. Derrick had sounded like he had the blues, and Deanna knew why, yet she pretended not to notice, and just gave him a run-down of their activities. Cassie, of course, was glad to hear her best friend was sounding the way she used to—looking forward to good times, instead of always being bored and lethargic, only interested in her writing class. And the nice bonus was Deanna was very excited about her romance with Davy; that part was so obvious that there was no way Deanna could possibly have hidden it from Cassie.

With two sleeping bags spread on the floor and the suitcases and supplies shoved into the corner, there was barely room for the three of them to lay next to each other when it was time to call it a day.

Of course, it _had_ to be the bigger tent that had the leak. Being squished together like this brought home the fact that there was an eerie unrest amongst them. Good or bad aside, it definitely let its presence be known.

The third sleeping bag was on top of Peter, and Davy and Deanna had a blanket over them. Everyone undressed under the covers, presumably putting their night clothes on. Deanna pulled her clothes out from under the blanket and threw them on Davy's own pile of clothes in the corner, making the mistake of looking down at him as she leaned over him.

There was frank desire burning bright in his eyes. _Oh Heavens . . . _

_It would have been perfect_. It had started to rain harder outside, and it could have been a very romantic setting.

_If not for Peter_. She gave Davy a look as if to say "Oh well," and laid down, curled up into his side as he lay on his back, and prepared to go to sleep. Peter was silent, but with the tent being so small, he was less than a foot and a half away from Deanna—too close for true comfort.

Her face was nestled up near Davy's neck, and she couldn't help herself as she kissed it, just because it was right there, so accessible. He grunted softly, a sign that the kiss had affected him in a way she hadn't intended. She hadn't meant to tease him, but a bolt of desire hit her unexpectedly at the sound. It was pure sensuality.

Davy turned on his side to face her, brushing her hair back so he could kiss her neck in turn. Uh-oh. This could lead to something that could catch Peter's attention with very little action, yet she didn't have the heart to push Davy away or tell him no.

He kissed her like he meant it, leaving no fragment of doubt behind. The waves of desire hit her full force, and suddenly she feared she'd give in whether common sense tried to speak up or not.

"Do you need me, baby?" Davy whispered into her ear a little later, after lots of kissing, when it seemed apparent Peter was asleep. _Oh God._ He was a long, slow drink for her unquenchable thirst.

"Yes . . .but—"

"I can be quiet," he whispered against her skin. She doubted that. But even if he _could_ be quiet, she could in no way trust herself to be able to keep from making at least some noise.

Davy was naked. It wasn't just his chest that was bare, as she had previously thought. Not even underwear remained. She knew that when he pulled her up tight to him. It was a shock, but a very pleasant and arousing one. He licked her neck, then kissed her fervently, sucking her lips and groaning into her mouth. She hoped the sound of the waves drowned it out to Peter's ears. He was probably asleep, but what if he wasn't?

A warmth cramped her belly, and the fear of Peter maybe being awake dissolved. That was when she knew it would be a major undertaking to resist Davy. He would have excited her anyway, but the added spice of having Peter less than two feet away felt like a very naughty taboo—out of bounds. Yet she found herself responding, and kissing Davy back with even more wildness than he'd felt in her before, and that, in turn, fueled his fire until white hot flames were engulfing the two of them.

Peter wasn't, in fact, asleep yet. When he'd first heard something, he'd thought Davy and Deanna were just shifting around to get comfortable, but when he opened his eyes into bare slits, he saw Deanna with her face buried in Davy's neck, and he heard Davy make a small noise that sounded very interesting.

_They weren't getting . . . frisky, were they?_

Peter stayed completely, utterly still, although his pulse picked up its pace measurably. If they were to look over at him in the near-dark, they wouldn't be able to see how his eyes were open only a tiny crack. Soon the two were kissing, and Peter found himself getting impossibly aroused.

Things began to happen under the blanket that covered them, and when he heard sucking noises, he knew what it was. Davy's head had slipped down, under the blanket. Deanna's back was arched, and Peter knew he was kissing her breasts. Now Peter's hard-on was straining against the sleeping bag.

Chances were, they were going to do more, and Peter was suddenly aware he was going to hear it all. He hoped and prayed it would happen, even though it made him feel slightly ashamed.

He found himself listening intently, wondering what he'd hear next. A little later, he knew oral sex must be in progress, as the both of them were moaning softly, and he could hear the wetness of tongues and lips, and distinct suctioning sounds. They were both under the blanket, so he couldn't see a thing, but the blanket was alive with rippling activity, the sounds more than sufficient to drive him ever nearer to the edge.

Peter was afraid he'd explode if he so much as brushed his cock against anything. And he didn't dare touch it with his hands. The only other times he'd gotten this horny were when he would allow himself the luxury of fantasizing about Davy. And he didn't do that often because of the guilt that wracked him afterward. This was something he'd never been so close to, mentally or physically. Davy making love just scant inches away from him!

Davy was now easing himself over Deanna, his head back in view, above the top of the blanket, resting on his forearms, kissing her, and then Peter saw the blanket that was over them was moving. Davy's butt was moving, meaning he was either dry humping her, or was in the process of entering her.

The movement of Davy's hips increased in speed, and then there was no further doubt in Peter's mind that Davy was inside Deanna. He looked down at the blanket with his eyes only so his head wouldn't move. He could see the outline of Deanna's legs and knees, spread wide, and the motion of Davy's body pumping into her, his breathing labored and harsh. More liquid-like sounds told Peter how wet she was, and he felt the pre-come beginning to soak the head of his cock.

Davy and Deanna were both burying their heads into the pillow so their moans would be muffled. Even so, Peter could hear them, and it made him ache. He ached with the need to feel Davy's hands on him. He even imagined Deanna touching him too. Probably because of that, he didn't feel as much jealousy as he would have guessed. Imagining what Deanna was feeling had him too preoccupied to even think about jealousy.

Davy moved faster now, his hand going down, beneath the blanket, leaving Peter wondering what he was doing. Deanna's increased moans told him Davy was stimulating her with his fingers. Peter was so close to blowing his wad that his balls were drawn up tight, the skin of his cock tightening more each second. There were tissues in the corner where they'd piled all their stuff, but he couldn't get to them without alerting Davy and Deanna, and that would be totally humiliating because they would probably guess what had precipitated it.

Only minutes later, Davy went into fifth gear. He was driving into her fast and smooth, his expertise showing. Deanna's body was moving up to meet him. Peter wondered if the blanket might slip off—that was how vigorous they were. He wanted to see—that would be the ultimate trip. To see it in the flesh, the real thing. Not a mostly forced, fake porn scene on a movie or TV screen. And with it being Davy, well . . . all the better! The best. Yes, he had to admit it—_the very best._

When Davy reached climax, it would have woken Peter if he hadn't already been awake. Even with the pillow as a muffle, Davy's cries and drawn out moans could be heard, and Deanna's were nearly as loud, having a pleading quality to them that aroused Peter so that he continued to balance on the very edge, in imminent danger of losing his grip and sliding right down the cliff.

Peter was able to hold off long enough to come when they did; all three of them within the same few seconds. So even if Peter let a few moans escape, chances were they hadn't heard him because of their own noise. Davy's hips continued to move in long, slow movements for a while, sporadically, getting the last bit out of it, kissing Deanna lovingly, and then rolling off her and holding her as they evidently went to sleep.

Peter was left with his hands overflowing with his own come, and not knowing what else he could do without attracting attention, he wiped it onto the sleeping bag and just hoped he'd be successful in scrubbing the stain out in the morning. Now he was going to have to sleep with that wet spot all night. But it was worth it—more than worth it . . . and then the scratching noise started.


	22. Chapter 22

Warmth, glorious warmth, all around her, enfolding her. It was the first thing she felt, the first thing she was aware of. Deanna moaned, basking in it, savoring it, and burrowing down deeper into it. Deeper into the blanket and sleeping bag. Wait . . . blanket _and_ sleeping bag? She was supposed to be under the blanket with Davy, not half under it and half under Peter's sleeping bag. Or at least that was how it felt.

Peter . . . oh God. She was afraid to open her eyes. So she simply didn't. She was on her side. That had to be Peter that was cuddled up to her backside, while Davy was pressed up against her front, and if what she_ thought_ she felt was reality, she was in trouble.

As if it weren't bad enough that they were all three fused together, _both_ guys had hard-ons. It felt better than anything she'd felt before, and she hated admitting it. So she just told herself it must be a dream, therefore she was not responsible for the content. Nope, she didn't have to open her eyes. She could just _feel._ Abandon herself. Just stay asleep. That's what she told herself as she got lost again in the sensation of two warm male bodies. Two very sexy, desirable male bodies.

Both guys were still asleep. Peter's breathing was slow and steady, and Davy was doing his cute little snore, so she risked a peek. With a start she remembered she was naked, just as Davy was. She couldn't tell if Peter was, except for his chest because it was pressed against her back. The hairs on his chest felt rough yet soft against her back, giving her a chill. As for the rest of him, it was hard to tell because all she could concentrate on was the _huge_ male appendage that was snuggled up cozily against her butt.

Her eyes first lit on Davy, eyes closed and looking angelic in his sleep, something he did very well. His arm was flung over her. She looked down cautiously to see Peter's arm also over her, just below her ribs, his hand resting on the sleeping bag underneath them.

_Wow. What a way to wake up!_ She almost wanted to go back to sleep so she could experience it for a little bit longer. Please, just a little bit longer . . . _oh please._

This was total Heaven. She could never, ever tell Cassie about this. The girl would positively salivate all over it. This was the kind of thing Cassie liked to fantasize about. Something that Deanna got embarrassed just_ thinking _about. Two men in bed with her. And possibly, two _naked _men.

Just then, Peter's erection twitched against her, and she let out a little shriek, waking both Davy and Peter. If she hadn't been so mortified, she would have laughed at their reactions. Davy was first to become alert enough to see what had happened—that they'd somehow all melded together during the night. She watched his face as his mind computed it.

Peter's reaction was quite different. He leaped straight up, like a cat, gripping the sleeping bag to his waist to keep his aroused state hidden.

Of course, yanking the sleeping bag as he did, caused it to uncover half of Deanna's naked body. She grabbed the blanket, jerking it over her, and pulling it off Davy.

"Oh! Shit! I'm sorry!" a tremor vibrated in Peter's voice as he backed away from Deanna swiftly in the way a crab does. He couldn't go far because he ran into the side of the tent, and just lingered there, eyeing Davy fearfully.

Suddenly, the sound of laughter filled the tent. Deanna turned her head in disbelief toward Davy. It seemed Davy had transformed into a mad man in the space of a heartbeat. He laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach, Deanna and Peter watching on in bemusement, and quite frankly, a certain degree of horror. Had Davy flipped his lid completely?

"It's just . . . it's just . . . so bloody funny!" Davy blurted out before he started laughing uncontrollably once again. His seeming hysteria was running rampant. Either he was coming completely unhinged, or he found the situation hilarious.

Fortunately it was the latter. Here they were, all three of them naked except that Peter had his jockey shorts on, and incidentally, was very glad he'd decided to bring underwear on this trip when he usually went commando. Davy and Deanna clung to bits of the blanket and sleeping bag, holding it against themselves in modesty. The comical component was that they'd all been pushed up tight against each other, flesh to flesh, just a moment ago.

"Cool it, Pete! It's okay!" Davy was still caught up in giggles that were leaking out in a steady stream. So Peter and Deanna started to laugh too, because, really, what else could they do? Peter had been so sure Davy was going to beat him to a pulp, and the laughter had assuaged that. He sighed with a long, deep breath, at least being pretty sure at this point he wasn't a dead man.

When reason was once again restored, everyone agreed to turn their backs and get dressed.

Deanna grabbed the first item of her clothing she could find- a tank top that was pretty form fitting, and didn't allow a bra because of the narrow spaghetti traps, and it was debatable if it were even more revealing than her bikini. Hmmm . . . she wasn't too sure about the wisdom of that, but she put it on along with some shorts and hoped she wouldn't feel too exposed. Davy and Peter both donned button down shirts and swimming trunks.

Peter was more than glad to hide his wood, and even though the trunks didn't conceal as much as he would have liked, it was a hell of a lot better than being naked or in his jockey underwear.

Peter asked Davy go to outside with him, and it was there that he apologized, telling Davy that upon waking, he'd found himself pressed up tight to Deanna, a certain part of his anatomy right up against her butt. "I didn't do it on purpose, David."

"Chill out, man. It's not your fault. You just gravitated toward her warmth when you were asleep." Davy seemed in a very relaxed, accommodating mood, so Peter went for broke and said something out of character. "Man, her butt felt good too!" He hoped he hadn't gone too far, and that Davy wouldn't be offended.

Davy nodded and laughed again. He could dig it—Peter was pretty innocent and didn't yet have that much filter for delicate situations. "I agree. By the way, she said she thinks you're cute. And some other things like sweet and considerate . . . something like that. I think she likes you."

Davy enjoyed watching Peter's expression after he'd gotten that hefty slice of information. Leaving Peter to his thoughts, Davy walked over to his tent to see what kind of damage the rain had caused, and left Peter standing there to sort through his conflicting, mind-boggling emotions.

_What had that been all about?_ Had Davy just given him license to flirt with Deanna? Of course, he wouldn't do it unless Davy indicated again that he was cool with it. He'd just seemed so casual about it that it had Peter all flummoxed.

_But . . . Deanna liked him? _This was something he hadn't given a lot of thought to, and his insides were doing flip-flops. Lighthearted flirting was harmless, he knew that, but still . . .

* * *

Davy, feeling playful, kidded Deanna when she came into the tent as he was evaluating the hole at the top.

"You've got your high beams on there." At first she wasn't sure what he was getting at, until she looked down at the thin material of her tank top and clearly saw the outline of her nipples. This was _definitely _worse than her bikini top!

She smacked him haphazardly, and started over to the other tent. "Where ya goin'?" Davy asked as he grabbed her arm to pull her back.

"To put my bikini top on," she said dismissively.

"No, don't do that," his voice took on that soft, caressing quality that she loved so much." It's a lovely sight. Why hide it?" His accent didn't help to cool down her simmering desire.

She grasped for something grounded to say. "Well, it's not just you and me here anymore, remember?"

"It's fine. Peter's never raped anyone, and it's natural, after all, you know? It's just your body, you see. Although I have to admit it's beautiful." Who could resist that? His compliments always made her head feel a little fuzzy.

But at the same time, Deanna could scarcely believe her ears. Davy was hinting that she should let Peter enjoy looking at her nipples! Then, reluctantly, she remembered her excitement in bed last night when they had made love with Peter right next to them. She was no less guilty than Davy. It was a good thing they had woken up so abruptly this morning, because it really hadn't really given her a chance or time to get embarrassed.

Now she could just go about her morning camp duties and act as if nothing had happened. And after all, Peter couldn't read her thoughts. She just hoped he hadn't heard them last night.

Peter and Davy started a fire to get the coffee going, and warm up some breakfast. Then the guys found some vine and fashioned a crude needle after whittling down a piece of wood until it was sharp enough on the end so they could sew together the rip in the roof of the tent. It didn't look attractive, but it would keep the water out if it rained again. There was a puddle in the tent, so they also moved the tent to a drier spot beneath some trees.

When they were done, they sat down with Deanna to have coffee, packaged danish and beef jerky.

"Sorry we don't have eggs and bacon, stuff like that," murmured Deanna.

"I don't expect that on a deserted island. I mean, can you imagine if we brought eggs over here in a kayak or canoe? They'd all be broken in those waves before we could get a hundred feet," Peter remarked, somewhat disgruntled.

"The waves aren't usually like that, but I agree that eggs wouldn't be the smartest thing to bring here," commented Davy.

"Hey, I just remembered, Davy. We have a small box of pancake mix! I could make up some pancakes tomorrow, and cook them over the fire in the skillet!" Deanna was proud of herself.

This got a positive reaction from both Davy and Peter. Pancakes, like with all young men, were one of their favorites.

"It's the only thing that I don't like about deserted island life—the food," said Davy to Peter, and they laughed, not noticing when Deanna got up and left.

Deanna was trying to keep her eyes away from the hair on Peter's chest that was exposed by the top two buttons of his shirt being left undone. He had the same habit Davy did. Buttons left undone. There was just too much male hotness around here. She needed to cool off, both physically and mentally. The images in her brain were too graphic.

So she headed for the sea, which was calm again today, everything fresh and crisp feeling from the rain. She had a nice swim, and before long, Davy and Peter shucked off their shirts and joined her.

"Why is it so shallow?" asked Peter.

"It is for about thirty feet, then it gets deeper. Beyond the coral it's deeper yet, and that's where the current grabbed Deanna," answered Davy.

"We'll have to have a night swim," suggested Peter.

"We've done that," said Davy, looking slyly at Deanna. She gave him a forbidding look, a warning not to go there with details. Memories of intimacy out there in the water at night with Davy rocked her to the core, and she doubted he'd tell Peter, but just in case . . .

"Yes, the water is warm even at night, unlike California beaches. The air is warmer too . . . oh, you already know that," Davy rambled, then smiled like a fool.

She'd blown it—letting herself be reminded of how the slight temperature drop last night had been enough to cause Peter to snuggle up to her in his sleep.

"Hey, I just remembered something," said Peter as they sat on the ocean floor, avoiding sharp rocks, their legs floating out in front of them. "I heard a weird scratching noise last night after you guys were asleep."

Davy and Deanna exchanged a disbelieving look. Was Peter hinting at their activities, or had he really, in fact, heard a scratching sound? Too much of a coincidence, decided Davy. He must have really heard it.

"What did it sound like?" asked Davy cautiously.

"Like a fingernail or something against the side of the tent."

"Oh bloody hell," exclaimed Davy. "We had the same experience when we were here in Molokai the first time! It happened at night, around bedtime, every night we were here. But our camp site was around the corner," he pointed to the east. "About half a mile from here. I wonder if it could be the same thing? How long did it last?"

"Oh, only a couple of minutes."

"Exactly! How weird that you would hear it too, and in a different area," said Deanna.

"Well, whatever it is, it travels. At least somewhat," said Davy.

She saw Peter struggling to keep his eyes away from the front of her tank top. Her breasts were just above the water. She could feel how hard her nipples were—even worse than when they'd been on shore.

_And now her tank top was also wet. Oh boy, where had her common sense gone?_

They spent the day in the sun, soaking it up, talking incessantly, gathering fire wood, and Peter and Davy, once again shedding their shirts, climbed a palm tree, Deanna's breath coming in short gasps as they went nearly to the top. She was both worried about their safety and enchanted with the muscles on their arms and legs. How they glistened in the sun with the light sweat of their exertion. Peter was in good shape too, although not quite as good as Davy. He began to tire and slow down when they neared the top. Davy had told Deanna that coming down was not as easy as it looked. The boy parts had to be protected from the rough spots on the tree trunk.

Davy got down without incident and they both waited for Peter, who Deanna noticed was sliding a lot faster than Davy had. Peter was saying "Ouch" louder and louder, until, by the time he got down to the last ten feet, he was practically yelling. He signaled Davy and then let go, Davy half-catching him and half letting him fall into the soft sand. It had provided enough cushion to spare Peter injury. It was the best Davy could do, since Peter outweighed him, and it saved them both being hurt.

"Forgot to warn you—you've got to go a little slower coming down than you did," Davy admitted with a cringe as Peter groaned in pain.

"You'll feel better in a couple of days," Davy said helplessly, eyeing the raw, red streaks on Peter's inner calves and thighs, and feeling a load of guilt.

Deanna had been amazed that Peter would let go when he was still that far up, but it made her realize just how much trust Peter really had in Davy.

"Hey, look at this!" Peter was back at Davy and Deanna's tent a little later, and he was pointing to the ground.

"A tortoise!" Davy said in astonishment. "How in the hell did a tortoise get on this island? And a good sized one at that."

"Hard to say. Someone, at some point, had to have brought him over in a kayak or something," said Peter thoughtfully. The creature's shell was about twelve inches long—about as large as a desert tortoise ever gets.

"But why would they even do that?" Davy was thinking aloud. "And how would he even get to Hawaii?" Peter shrugged.

"A desert tortoise, all alone here on this deserted island," said Davy half to himself, still staggered.

"He's in paradise though," said Peter. "All the greenery, and the bananas, hibiscus, and who knows what else. He eats good, that's for sure."

Deanna studied the wrinkly grey head, the scaly legs and mostly smooth shell with some gentle ridges in it.

"He's so ugly, he's cute," she said. Peter and Davy set off to find the tortoise some bananas, and Deanna sat beside him as he basked in the sun, petting him gently once he lost his fear and came out of his shell.

The reptile appreciated the bananas the guys brought back, as a tortoise can't climb a tree, and has to wait until the bananas are ripe enough to fall to the ground.

"Tortoises are such gentle animals," said Peter. "Totally innocuous. They make great pets. I had one as a kid."

Davy looked skeptical. "Now Pete, you don't plan on making a pet of him, do you?"

"No, but we can enjoy his company while we're here," came Peter's simple answer.

"Kapena would never allow him in the canoe, and besides that, how would we get him back to California?" Davy continued because he could tell by the look on Peter's face that the blonde would have gladly taken the tortoise back to Malibu if there had been any way possible. Peter had a hard time resisting animals and small children.

So did Deanna, it turned out. She spent quite a while petting him and talking to him. Davy didn't mind the tortoise, in fact, he liked him, as he did nearly all animals, but when the lumbering creature started following Peter around, Davy got concerned.

"He'll get too dependent on you for food, and might not forage after we're gone. Besides, you'll be heartbroken to leave him." Davy was right—oh so right. Peter got attached much too quickly because he was so softhearted. And Davy thought Deanna would never tire of stroking the animal's head and talking softly to him.

Peter had a lazy way of halfway flirting with Deanna and Davy. He didn't want to seem to be too pushy, but both of them seemed to react in a good, positive way. And there were _two_ of them! Peter had never mastered the art of flirting, and this was a great introduction. No pressure, no rejection. Just good feelings all the way around.

Deanna didn't quite know what to make of Peter's somewhat unskilled show of affection. It seemed so benign, yet it turned her on too. She loved Davy, of that there was no question, but Davy's positive attitude about it, and his enjoyment of the equal attention he was getting seemed to balance everything out.

Davy was very content, and he felt no threat from Peter. Peter seemed to be just as taken with Deanna as himself, and this added an air of spicy mystery to the relationship as a whole between the threesome. He wasn't going to analyze it to death or let it worry him if and until there was something to worry about. Right now, they were all living in the moment, enjoying something they could take with them into old age, a memory that he doubted would ever fade.

After a run along the beach, the wind ruffling their hair until they looked disheveled, they each bathed in their fresh water supply, and then they sat and watched the sunset. There were an exceptional amount of purples, pinks and yellows tonight, making the sky almost gaudy looking. It reflected on the water, making it appear pink as well. Perhaps the rain had had an effect on the colors, but Davy and Deanna hadn't seen a sunset as glorious as this one yet. Maybe it was a sign of good things to come . . .

* * *

That night they had their swim. It had sounded like a good idea, but Deanna wasn't so sure when she kept feeling Peter's eyes on her swim suit. He wasn't being obvious, but that wasn't necessary, because any woman knows instinctively when a man is attracted to her. His eyes, however, felt warm wherever they touched her. Warm and gentle.

Davy's attitude though, really had her befuddled. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't seem to mind Peter ogling his girlfriend, and Deanna thought that strange. Davy had shown signs of possessiveness that could not be questioned. Like the guy at the shop that had gotten into Deanna's personal space, and the way he'd made his intentions toward her known to Derrick.

She wasn't going to obsess though, and potentially ruin this paradise they'd carved out for themselves. Things were going so smoothly and unpretentiously that Deanna found herself really digging swimming with these two very attractive, engaging guys. She soon lost her feeling of self-consciousness and just acted naturally.

The guys were evidently also very at ease with the situation. Teasing each other, they laughed and splashed and played like ten year olds. They flirted with both her and each other. They threw her back and forth between them, taking extra care not to be too rough. The heady feeling of having both guys' attention ran like a drug in Deanna's veins.

When they got back to Davy and Deanna's tent, they dried off, bathed in fresh water again and changed. They ate canned chili, crackers and dried fruit for dinner. Over their meal, Davy's eyes met hers, and she knew he was feeling romantic. So was she. How could she not? The day had gone so much better than she had imagined it would. She had been afraid there would be tension when they got up this morning, as they'd had such an awkward start to the day. But it had proven to be just the opposite. The three of them felt like old friends.

Peter and Davy rough housed a little in the tent, something they told her they often did at home at the Pad. They wrestled and tried to pin each other down, laughing, cavorting and fooling around. Deanna watched on, amused at their antics.

At one point Peter had Davy pinned, which had been a massive achievement, since Davy was so quick and agile, not to mention very strong for his size. Peter wouldn't let Davy up, taunting him playfully.

"Okay, Pete. That's enough!" cried Davy at last, still giggling.

"It's never enough," Peter said, and his eyes were suddenly dead serious. His statement was met with silence.

Davy and Deanna got Peter's meaning and suddenly no one knew what to say. Deanna got the impression Peter hadn't meant to say it, but that he hadn't been able to stop himself. That was when she first started wondering if Peter might feel even stronger about Davy than she'd thought.

_Not just crushing on Davy, but also feeling something closer to . . . dare she even think it?_

Clumsily, Davy got off the floor of the tent and stumbled slightly before sitting down on the sleeping bag. Very unlike him. Deanna was pretty certain she knew why. Peter's statement had hit him right in the gut, metaphorically, as it had her, and he was a little stunned.

The conversation after that was stifled. They were now all practicing restraint. Everyone was afraid of saying the wrong thing. When it got to about ten o'clock, Peter said a rather bumbling good night and went to his own tent.

Davy and Deanna just lay there beside each other, lost in thought. Neither made a move on the other.

"That was pretty deep, wasn't it?" asked Davy, propped up on an elbow and watching her face closely for signs of unease.

"Yes. It kind of told me the . . . whole story," she responded. Davy looked at her curiously. She hurried on, before she lost her nerve.

"What I mean is . . . Peter more or less confessed a lot in that one sentence."

Davy nodded. "I'm with you. There was a definite message. Does it bother you?"

"No, it still doesn't. I'm not saying it_ never_ will, but it hasn't yet. As long as you still love me," she reminded him, smiling tenderly.

"Always," he said. "His attraction to you is also quite apparent," he threw in for good measure.

"I've seen him looking at me in a . . . _different_ way. I wasn't sure what it meant though." She didn't want to say out loud that she'd seen what she was sure was poorly disguised blatant lust in Peter's eyes.

"I think he's trying to flirt a little," Davy made this suggestion very gently, lightly, hoping it wouldn't have a negative impact.

"Yeah, I got that feeling. Does it make you feel jealous?" she asked.

"This is kind of funny, but I was asking you not that long ago about his feelings for me bothering you, and now you're asking me the same question, only reversed."

"Yeah," she said. "It's kind of . . . ironic, if that word even fits."

"Yeah. It was an intense moment though," he admitted.

"Do those kind of moments ever happen at the Pad?" she asked.

"Oh, not quite so dramatic as that, because it's usually just looks, not actual dialog, but yes, we've had quite a few moments."

"Then nothing has ever happened between you?"

"No, I never knew how Peter felt until he confessed."

* * *

Sometime during the night, the rain had begun again, even though there had been no warning. Davy and Deanna were both missing Peter, all alone in his tent, but neither one voiced it. They held each other, but they didn't make love. Davy was waiting for a sign from Deanna, and she from him, so their wires were somewhat crossed.

Then, Peter's voice came from outside their tent.

"It's me, Peter, I can't knock, because there's no door."

"Come on in, babe," said Davy.

"Thanks, Pumpkin," responded Peter as he slid in through the flap, dripping wet.

_Pumpkin? _Deanna's ears perked up at that.

"I was going to stay in my tent, but I heard that scratching noise. At first, I ignored it, then I started getting scared. I know you guys want your privacy, and I hope I didn't wake you."

"Peter, we were missing you, and no, we weren't asleep yet," Deanna ventured to say. If she weren't pretty sure Davy felt the same way, she wouldn't have said it.

"Come on in. Did you bring your sleeping bag?" asked Davy. Sheepishly, Peter brought it in from just outside the tent.

"Did it get wet?" asked Deanna.

"A little, not much."

"We really do need to find out what is making that scratching noise," said Deanna.

"I searched for it a couple nights the last time we were here, but didn't find a thing," said Davy. "You know that, Deanna."

"Well, it creeps me out," Peter didn't have too much pride to admit it.

"Us too, truth be known. Peter, this is a change of subject, but why did you call Davy Pumpkin?" asked Deanna, not able to stem her curiosity any longer.

"Oh, David told me it's a term of endearment in England, so I use it now and then to rib him."

Deanna got the feeling Peter might not be telling the whole truth. He had seemed to enjoy spilling the pet name just a little too much. She liked his sweet way of teasing. There was absolutely no malice in it.

Peter's sleeping bag had indeed gotten wet. Too wet. He kept shifting around, fidgeting and trying to find a dry spot until Deanna insisted he sleep with them on their two sleeping bags, and share the blanket. In other words, even though they were in the bigger tent tonight, they ended up just as close to each other as last night.

Good thing Deanna had put a night gown on earlier. Peter was in pajamas, something Deanna assumed he'd done before coming to their tent. So at least they wouldn't be flesh to flesh again.

No sooner had they stopped talking to go to sleep when the scratching noise started.

"Damn it to hell!" Davy sat up ramrod straight. "I'm gonna find out once and for all what that creepy noise is! Come on, Pete."

The guys left the tent with flashlights in hand, and Deanna was left alone. She was positive they were going to encounter something that would do them both in, and then come for her. She had herself all worked up and ready to grab the gun, which they, in their hurry, had left behind, when she heard them laughing.

Well, it couldn't be _that_ bad if they were laughing, right?

Then, "Peter, you can't take that in the tent!" came Davy's voice out of the darkness.

"Come on, David. It's raining!" protested Peter.

Deanna got up and yelled out of the tent flap, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, man. And the mystery is solved," Davy appeared, Peter behind him, carrying something.

_The tortoise!_ The tortoise had been causing the scratching sound!

Peter, despite Davy's admonishment, was bringing the reptile inside the tent.

"This guy really gets around the island! He's wet and cold, and just wants a warm, dry place to sleep!" Peter said, even though Davy was no longer arguing about it.

"Well, he certainly wasn't scratching on our tent last time because of rain, because there wasn't any," grumbled Davy.

"Well, maybe he just wanted company. He's lonely," and Peter, Deanna had to admit, sounded halfway convincing.

"I guess I never saw him when I searched before because he's so low to the ground," muttered Davy as he laid back down. "I was looking for something a lot bigger."

Peter dried the tortoise's shell, then put him at the far end of the tent with a blanket over him and a few pieces of banana. He did all this via flashlight.

Davy just shrugged his shoulders, rolled his eyes and sighed. He knew there was no way to talk Peter out of it, so he didn't even try to.

When they all got back under the blanket, flashlights positioned so they could see, Deanna turned to Peter. "You tortoise lover, you!" she jabbed him in the ribs in a playful tickle attempt.

"Careful, Deanna," said Davy. "He's a good contender. Remember he pinned me earlier."

"Want to see?" Peter asked, and then attacked before Deanna had a chance to even answer. He was just playing, but she was all too aware of the magnetism between them. She put up a good fight, thinking she was holding her own as they grappled, and then Peter demonstrated he'd only been letting her _think _she was a good rival when he smoothly and fast as lightning, rolled her onto her back, and there was no way she was going anywhere.

She tried everything she could think of, but she was held fast by a shockingly strong man—apparently he'd learned a lot from wrestling with Davy. They were both laughing and Deanna was shrieking in mock terror when suddenly they both stopped and became silent. Their eyes were locked, and it was a little like the earlier scene between Peter and Davy.

They remained with Peter on top of her, gripping her hands, which were pinned to her sides on the sleeping bag underneath them. He was holding her down with almost no effort, almost tenderly, and he hadn't been a bit rough either. He'd been as graceful as a feline. More silence, but still neither one moved.

Davy's soft voice came through to Deanna's senses, eerily sounding far away, yet very near.

"Do it."

His voice was gentle and encouraging, coaxing. She and Peter slowly turned their heads toward Davy, shock registering on their faces.

"Go ahead. Do it," Davy repeated. "Kiss. I know you both want it. Do it for me."


	23. Chapter 23

_**Author's note: Special thanks to my two reviewers. FF won't allow me to type user names for some reason, but you know who you are! I just can't stress how much your support means to me . . . **_

_This had to be a dream. _

It couldn't possibly be real.

Numb, stunned, boneless is how she felt. Here they were, the three of them, stone cold sober and sane, and Peter was about to kiss her.

Impossible. None of them were acting as if they had a lick of sense.

She was a nice girl. She didn't do things like this.

Yet she couldn't stop the heat from pulsing through her core, her nipples tightening, her breathing becoming erratic. Her body's responses betrayed her shamefully. It sure_ felt_ real. Peter's hazel eyes penetrated hers, and she saw in them similar emotions to her own. He was so unbelievably readable! She didn't think he had any barriers. She could almost have written a book about his life just by gazing into his eyes. Peter was more open, more emotionally obtainable than anyone she'd known.

His lips were closing the distance, and she felt two distinct urges surface at the same time. One said to shout "Stop!" and the other encouraged her to taste his lips. The latter had the strongest pull by anyone's standards, but was it something that would bring remorse?

Kissing another man was surely not feasible. It was, in fact, hideous. She loved Davy. It was hazardous, risky and could put everyone in jeopardy. Davy was all she needed. But concurrently, she was turned on tremendously by Peter and his evident quest, and with Davy's urging . . . well, this was a precarious spot to be in.

Her mind swam and swirled with menacing thoughts. Broken friendships, broken relationships. She reasoned it was just a kiss, after all. And as sick and demented as she felt at the moment, wondering if they weren't all slipping over to the wrong side of the tracks, nevertheless, she wanted to. She really wanted to.

If she was going to do this, she was determined she wasn't going to be sorry. You don't do something like this, take such a wild chance, tell caution to take a leap if you were going to go on a guilt trip afterward. So she pulled out all the stops.

All Peter's innocence and wonder came seeping out, cloaking her and nudging her over, daringly close to stark raving madness. Or that was how it seemed. She'd lost all sense of propriety, but for one of the few times in her life, she didn't care. Guilt had no place here, and she wouldn't allow it to get a foothold.

She was hyper aware of Peter's every, slightest move. Every breath he took, every sigh he emitted caused the fine blond hair on her arms to stand up. The tension built until it was nearly unendurable.

And then, keeping her eyes closed all the while to block it out, she felt his lips on hers. Davy's kisses were full of confidence and self-assurance. Peter's was almost timid, as if he were asking permission. And that was as it should be, she reflected. She was Davy's girl; Peter was stepping over the ordinary boundaries for ordinary people. This was in no way ordinary though—it was extraordinary. Davy was more than obliging—more than letting it happen; he was the instigator.

Being a good girl—well, a _mostly_ good girl her whole life, she found herself being sorely, _excruciatingly_ tempted by this blonde bassist. She'd never so much as kissed two guys in one day, and she wondered what Davy's ultimate goal was. Was he playing a game? Or was he allowing his more carnal feelings to rule him? Would he hate her afterward? Would he hate Peter? Or even himself?

She thought briefly of Cassie, who would be so proud of her. She was listening to her desires, and yes, acting on them. Something Cassie had accused her of never doing. Cassie had always said Deanna was uptight. She had envied Cassie in a way. Cassie could say things like "you're only young once," and then feel justified to step over to the wild side. And yes, Deanna was getting very tired of being miss goody two-shoes. This was a remote island off Hawaii, with gorgeous beaches, sunsets, and romance was always only a heartbeat away. For once in her life, she was going to act without worrying about repercussions or regrets.

Peter's timidity was diminishing. They kissed fully now. The warmth of his lips matched Davy's, and they were just as soft. But it only lasted seconds, seemingly ending almost before it began. Guilt ripped at her when she felt disappointment. She sensed, correctly, that Peter was afraid because he didn't know what kind of a kiss it was supposed to be—just a playful, short one to amuse Davy, or perhaps . . . Davy might applaud something quite different than that.

Neither Peter nor Deanna knew, and they weren't taking chances. You didn't want to encourage Davy's wrath. Davy's eyes were glazed, yet riveted on them, waiting . . . waiting for more. Deanna could scarcely flick her eyes in his direction. She felt flushed, shamed and excited all in one breath.

"Now do it like you _really_ want to . . . without the inhibitions," said Davy, his voice hushed.

Okay, so they had Davy's full consent, his approval. Deanna was drunk on a kind of lust she'd never felt before. It wasn't the kind of lust she felt for Davy, with the love entwined firmly in the midst of it. No, this was powerful sexual desire in its purest form. She could enjoy Peter, whom she had to admit she'd been attracted to right from the day he'd gotten here, and knowing Davy wanted it to happen made it all the sweeter. The forbidden fruit, right here before her, calling her name.

Peter was ravenous. There was no other word for it. Deanna knew almost immediately that he'd not been with a woman in God knew how long. Deanna had suspected before that he was inexperienced with women because his manner around her was unsteady and unsure, practically meek, and now it was halting as well, but for only a very short time.

When he let go, he blossomed. How a kiss could be this passionate was hard to believe, but she was living it. Right here, right now, it was happening. In front of Davy, and yet she didn't hold back. She knew good girls didn't cheat on their boyfriends, but what about if your boyfriend is right there, cheering you on, giving his support because it's pleasurable for him too? She didn't know the answers, and she didn't want to think. All she wanted was to feel more of Peter's lips.

Had he lost his ever loving mind? No . . . it just seemed so right to him. So natural. He and Deanna were in love, Peter had admitted he was attracted to Davy, Peter and Deanna were obviously attracted to each other, and Davy found himself attracted to Peter, in a way. If he were to describe it "off the cuff," he'd say it was the perfect storm, only with a positive spin. So why not? People could judge them however they wanted, and he still wouldn't care. They were alone on an island with no people to plague them anyway, so what did it matter?

How had Davy known of their mutual attraction? The way they had flirted so subtly, and he'd been pleased that they hadn't tried to hide it from him. Both were honest by nature.

The excitement he felt from watching Peter and Deanna kiss overtook him, and for about the third or fourth time in his life, he was more or less helpless. The first time had been the death of his mother. The other two or three had been school yard fights he'd been in because sometimes boys would pick on him because he was short. He'd overcome it though, by learning to fight, so feeling helpless was not a condition he was comfortable with. He was used to remedying it, taking action, not being passive. Really, it was all he'd ever known.

The difference here was, he was _actively_ passive. He was the orchestrator, in a sense. He'd made this come about—he'd created it. And the sexual desire was making him vulnerable. There wasn't a person in this world he'd share Deanna with. _But Peter wasn't just anyone._ Peter wouldn't try to steal her away, Peter would respect Davy in every way, and, sick or not, Davy was getting off on seeing the two of them kiss. If a kiss could do this to him . . . the thought of other potential promises whirring in his brain made a certain part of him harden even more.

If Deanna loved him as he loved her, and he suspected she did—this wouldn't threaten their relationship. It would only enhance it. Not everyone would necessarily feel as he did, but that was how he saw it. Peter was perfection. If Davy were gay, Peter would be his perfect man. He was fun and carefree and loving. Not argumentative or abrasive. One of the reasons, Davy supposed, that he loved being with Peter was because they were so different. While Peter smoothed Davy out, Davy helped Peter build confidence.

Deanna was the woman Davy had been waiting for. She'd been a little on the prudish side until he'd reached her inner fire, but now he could see even more clearly that she had a wild side too. His girl and his best friend—this could be a fantasy he hadn't even imagined was possible. Not in the real world. Both Deanna and Peter were naïve in certain ways, and Davy also loved that about them. It gave all this an edge, and it held an element of delicious anticipation.

_And now they were kissing. _

She floated through it, taking and giving. Peter kept his tongue to himself, but his lips did fabulous things to hers. They devoured hers with even more vigor when he fully realized how much Davy was turned on by watching. He liked Davy watching, and found this whole experience to be so new, so novel. He'd thought before that this kind of thing was dirty and deviant. Now he was getting a taste of the softer, more loving side of it.

Between loving friends, this could turn into something almost magic. That was as far as Peter was able to expand it in his mind at the moment. He was so wrapped up in her, so deliriously happy, so electrically aroused. The only thing that would make it better would be if Davy participated, although, in his mostly innocent mind, he wasn't sure how that would come about.

They kissed perhaps for a few minutes, although time really had no meaning right now. His hands were buried in her hair, her hands were trailing up his arms, to the back of his neck, and pressing so she could kiss him harder, more intricately. He ate it all up, thinking it would not be possible to get enough.

When they finally stopped, everyone sighed, including Davy. It had been one hell of a wild ride, and everyone felt the drain. Deanna reached over to Davy, pulling him near. Davy's mannerisms stiffened only slightly as he not only got close to Deanna, but also to Peter.

Never had the two of them been close in this capacity. This wasn't wrestling on the floor, or teasing each other in a male type of way. This was a whole different ball of wax. It was emotionally charged, as they were both turned on by Deanna and what had just occurred. But neither of them could deny the physical attraction passing between themselves as well. The air carried a charge so sharp and distinct that Davy had to catch his breath, then wondered how he'd manage to draw his next one.

Davy kissed Deanna's cheek as Peter watched on. Even this made Peter's toes curl. He was so damn horny all the time, but Deanna made his thoughts jumble, his hands shake and his voice tremble. This was so much more than being horny. It was eroticism. Just a kiss on the cheek. And then he realized that Davy was playing an enormous part in this. Yeah, he wanted Davy's participation in the worst way.

He was pretty sure that seeing any other guy kiss her cheek wouldn't turn him on. It would only make him, perhaps, jealous. Yep, Davy was an essential element. Davy was integral to all of this. Without Davy, he'd enjoy Deanna's company, and maybe more, but Davy was the finishing touch. Davy had been a kind of impossible dream for him, an unreachable star. Now Davy was being drawn closer to him through Deanna. If she were to be the catalyst, then so be it. He _knew_ how he felt about Davy. With Deanna, things were very new yet, but the chemistry was certainly there. It seemed to be there for all of them, or maybe that was just his very active imagination.

When Davy finished kissing Deanna's cheek, Peter brought up how close he felt to both of them, embarrassing Davy into an actual blush. He felt like Peter was making him sound gay. Did it sound that way to Deanna? He didn't know if he were quite ready for something like this. _Whatever it was._ Not knowing how far it might go made him feel giddy and afraid at the same time.

"Ha!" Davy said to conceal his embarrassment. "Well, I never got over Mike calling me JGE," he remarked with a soft laugh.

"JGE?" asked Deanna, fighting her way out of her knotted web of desire long enough to ask the question.

"Yeah, 'just gay enough,'" Peter answered her because Davy couldn't find his voice, focusing on her swollen, moist lips that Peter had just kissed.

Deanna burst out laughing. "Why ever would he say that?"

"Because David's so pretty. It's Mike's way of complimenting him, because I think he envies him, and all the attention he gets, but it's complicated to explain," said Peter. "Mike isn't free with his sentiments."

"You can say that again," quipped Davy.

Men . . . Deanna was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Peter and Davy . . . Mike making that remark. Feelings had been caught under the surface for a long time—that much had been established. It seemed that even Mike had sensed it, although Peter claimed Mike had only been referring to Davy's looks. She suspected it went deeper than that, but that Mike had kept his lips sealed.

"David's cheeky though. Sometimes way too cheeky," added Peter. "He's been blessed too much." Davy shrugged, not arguing the matter because he knew he couldn't convince anyone otherwise. Looks were only surface-dwelling anyway. He'd rather have a heart like Peter's, even though Peter was no slacker in the looks department himself. But Davy would like to be as pure and as trusting as Peter. Next to him, Peter was extremely green and unworldly, but just, well . .. sweet. It would be refreshing not to have all those clingy girls under his belt, all those proverbial notches on his bedpost. He'd seen too much in his short life.

"Just remember you're the 'devastating dimple,'" said Davy, directing it to Peter. "A girl gave him that nickname," he informed Deanna. "She was also the one who took his innocence away."

"His virginity?" asked Deanna, just because she could not resist.

Peter nodded, apparently unbothered by Davy's admission. He was used to remarks on his dimple. Even old ladies were captivated by it. He'd heard comments on it all his life. As for his innocence, it was a fact, so why hide it?

"I felt your eyes on me a lot," said Davy casually, the two of them flanking Deanna, and somehow keeping the atmosphere low key and relaxed. Peter hadn't expected this comment out of the blue, but he rose to the challenge.

"Damn right I checked you out . . . on a regular basis," said Peter, unashamed, and Deanna was once again awed by his candor. Peter would be intriguing though, even if you never heard him say a single word. He had an originality about him. His effect on her was disconcerting yet powerful in the way it captured her and hung on tenaciously.

Peter was right-Davy was pretty, yet rugged. Seemed an impossible combination, but he pulled it off with perfection. Like he did just about everything else in life. No wonder Peter's eyes had been on him.

Jolted, she realized both guys had masculine and feminine traits, yet she, who had always gone for the super macho men, was very enchanted. It was, for lack of a better word, _endearing._ A very new experience. The pretty, daring bad boy and the innocent, sometimes clueless, yet eager, hopeful charmer. Who, by the way, rarely knew when he was charming her, unlike Davy.

The way they related to each other had her stumped and perplexed. They were affectionate with each other, yet they retained their virile air. They didn't internalize things either. They could communicate almost as well as women, with Peter clearly being the winner in this category, but Davy made so much of an effort that it made up for any shortcomings. Unlike most men, they went below the surface, and tried to dig up the raw truth in things.

And the raw truth right now was that they were both taken with the same woman, yet there was no competition or dispute, no unrest. They were both quietly accepting. Deanna thought it was strangely beautiful, knowing their spirits were in the right place. It was for all the right reasons. She knew this because she'd seen the truth in Davy's eyes many times, and Peter was pretty much incapable of petty deception. It didn't take a genius to see that.

Peter remembered the stain on his sleeping bag from the previous night, and hoped he'd gotten it all out. He'd had visions of Deanna discovering it in the morning. He would have died of mortification had that happened. It had not been easy to sneak back into the tent and scrub it while the others were outside. They all kept pretty close tabs on each other, as that's what you do on an island you aren't well acquainted with. He smiled at the pointlessness of his worry about the stain. Even if it had been discovered, it would soon have been forgotten. It was insignificant. What was important was the here and now, and what was transpiring right before his eyes.

Deanna had a man on either side of her, lying close and warm against her. A blonde and a brunette. Every girl's secret fantasy, she supposed. How did she get so lucky? And when had she become so wanton? So open minded? So accepting, so willing to discover where they were headed?

The next time Davy kissed her, it was on the lips. At first she was unsettled about it, as Peter was so very close. But, as she'd done with Peter, she responded, and it had the same effect that it had with Peter. She got aroused, and even more so knowing Peter was watching.

When Davy finally stopped, Peter took over, and Davy watched. She was amazed at how Peter's confidence was elevated quite a bit as his ego was boosted by her positive response. The desire in the tent was tangible. You could almost reach out and touch it—it was that thick.

Deanna found herself not able to keep her hands off them. Her fingers disappeared into their so-soft hair, then fluttered over their cheeks, Davy's smooth, Peter's a little rough and stubbly. Peter had borrowed her mirror and shaved this morning, and that made Deanna realize that she'd never seen Davy shave. Davy spent quite a bit of time preening while gazing into her mirror, but she'd never even seen a razor, much less saw him actually shave. He was too young yet, and that floored her. It would happen in time, but for now, it made him seem younger than his years.

When Peter kissed her, his beard stubble scraped her skin, and she found it was terribly exciting. He was kissing her with a lot less inhibition now, acting as if he'd had lots of practice, reassured now that Davy wasn't going to go into battle mode.

It was actually quite serene, if you took the desire out of the equation. The dull, deep ache remained in Deanna's belly that told her she needed sexual release, but she could deal with it. She wanted them both here, and close to her. And they, apparently, enjoyed each other as much as they enjoyed her, although they didn't touch each other. They didn't have to though, as she could see the affection in their eyes. They were about as obvious as a peacock's feathers as they smiled and joked, not even attempting to disguise their devotion to each other. When their eyes met, they seemed to stick.

None of it was hidden from her, which made her feel special. They were not ashamed to act naturally, as they did in their bedroom at home, even in her full view. They trusted her to understand, and support them. She wondered if they would, in fact, eventually touch each other. She couldn't say anything, as much as she both feared it and wanted it. It didn't keep her from looking forward to it, though. She'd never seen two men touch the way a man and a woman touched. Hell, she didn't think she'd ever _known _a male gay couple. So her appetite was whetted, and she was eager to see if the actual thing would excite her as much as the thought of it did.

The three of them lay there now, on their backs, side by side, each immersed in their own thoughts.

She knew . . . she knew what Davy did to all the girls who got anywhere near him. He made you feel like you were on the edge of losing control. His expressions, his mannerisms. Watching him on the stage was almost unbearable. So she tried to guess how he made Peter feel. Even now, thinking about it, her face felt heated. How could Peter stand it? Being with him so much? Sharing the same bedroom with him? Standing so close to him onstage? Peter must be made of a lot stronger stuff than she was.

How long had he resisted? Perhaps years. He'd had to look at Davy every morning when they got up, and every night when they went to bed, and most of the time in between. If Davy affected Peter the way he did her, Peter had to have suffered, a _lot._

Davy, entertaining his own thoughts, wondered why no other girl had made him feel the way Deanna did. Just watching her walking on the shore, wetting her feet, looking for shells, or preparing to go for a swim got him hard. He was no different from other young men—women excited him. But none as Deanna did. Only if a girl did something provocative, or was kissing him in a way that he knew she wanted him, did he feel as lusty as he felt about Deanna _all _the time. She didn't need to do anything suggestive. Just catching sight of her as he walked out of the woods and onto the beach, and he would feel himself stiffen down below. With the anticipation alone. Like he was seeing her for the first time in the library all over again.

Would she smile at him? _Usually._ Would she touch him? _Sometimes._ Would they make love? _If he was lucky._

And when she ran her fingernails lightly up and down his arm, he felt like he'd surely combust. That private little signal made him come undone every time. He knew what it meant, oh God, did he know. The flirting would commence, and sooner or later they'd find themselves alone, where she would ravish him, and he'd ravish her right back.

They had made love last night, and yet he was having a difficult time keeping his desire in check. He couldn't seem to get enough of her. He couldn't just rip her away from Peter, take her to the other tent, and tell Peter to leave them alone for a while. Peter would know, and Deanna would no doubt be horribly embarrassed.

Yet, strangely, the three of them here, now, felt really good to him too. His desire, his _need, _though,wasn't abating. Instead, he felt as if just about anything were possible right now. He had to watch himself. In this euphoric state he was in; he might easily cross the line.

He had no way of knowing if they were all in the same state of mind. But he could make a pretty good guess. A kind of devil may care attitude had him in its clutches. And that was where danger could easily lie.

When, suddenly, Deanna turned on her side to face him, and ran her fingernails lightly along his bicep and forearm, he had an instant answer. The caress had been so blatant, so flagrant.

_She was in the mood._

But how could this possibly be achieved? Peter was there, right next to them. And most importantly,_ he was awake._

"Relax, Sweet Butt, my scrumptious Candy Ass," she said, not caring if Peter heard. "Later, tonight." Her eyelashes fluttered as she flirted without shame.

_Later?_ It must be three or four in the morning already. Or was she just putting on a show?

Peter tried to shake off the shock of how obvious Deanna was being in her seduction of Davy, and the fact that she had specifically not been covert about it in his presence. Peter had seen how her fingers had glided over Davy's flesh in a way that was pretty damn transparent.

"Did she just call you Candy Ass?" he asked Davy, trying to reroute his own attention so that he wouldn't lose his composure.

"Uh, yeah. It's a long story. Well, really a short story. She called me Sweet Butt one time, and I mentioned that at least she hadn't called me Candy Ass, and now Candy Ass is my nickname."

_And Davy permitted her to call _him_ that?_ Peter now had no doubt how deep into this Davy really was. He would have pointedly asked any other girl to please not call him that. Peter knew that for a fact.

Damn! Peter thought about the tents, and the fact that the leak had been fixed, so even if it rained, he wouldn't be able to hear them make love tonight from the other tent. Well, he might be able to hear something, but he wouldn't be able to see it. It wouldn't be anywhere near the same as lying next to them like last night. He also wouldn't be able to cuddle up to Deanna. He couldn't stand that thought.

So he just stayed right where he was, on his sleeping bag and hoped they wouldn't kick him out.

"As for Peter, he's a pussy cat, but if you hurt someone he loves, he becomes a lion," said Davy, evidently deciding to share his reflections on Peter with Deanna. "So you've got two cats in one. One is savage and the other is a purring kitten. I never saw the ability in him to get angry before I saw him become the lion. I underestimated him. He protects his own." Davy sounded proud, which in turn, made Peter feel proud.

Deanna wondered what incident had inspired Peter to become ferocious the way Davy had described.

_He protects his own, _Davy had said.

"Who did you protect like that, Peter?" there she went again, ruminated Deanna. Always sticking her nose in places she shouldn't, and one day it was going to bite her in the ass.

"The other guys," said Peter simply.

"Me, specifically," Davy's voice was oddly silky and husky at the same time. Davy's eyes flickered to Peter's from over Deanna's body, and her head swiveled back and forth, as if watching a tennis match to see what kind of looks they were sharing.

"Yeah, someone called me a shrimp," explained Davy to Deanna.

"A guy who didn't know any better," interjected Peter. "He didn't know who he was messing with."

"Mike, Micky and I had to hold David back," Peter went on. "David was gonna mop up the floor with him. I told the guy how temperamental David can be."

Davy laughed languidly.

_That chuckle—man, it turned her inside out._

"Well, I didn't say it exactly that way," Peter continued.

"Peter . . ." Davy's chocolate eyes darted a warning toward the blonde.

"I wasn't gonna say it out loud with a lady present," protested Peter as he tsked at Davy and he smiled at Deanna to let her know no one was upset with anyone. "At any rate, the guy believed me when he saw Davy's bloodthirsty, forbidding look, and he walked away."

Deanna had to laugh. She'd seen that very look on Davy's face in Maui when that guy had come on to her. She knew how ominous and frighteningly sinister it was.

She felt Peter's eyes on her, and she looked up to meet them. For a second there was a look of pure, naked desire in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

_He had no right._ Peter upbraided himself silently. He shouldn't be letting her catch him looking at her in that way! He sure hoped she hadn't caught the hunger in his eyes. This was flirting only, and although Davy hadn't specified that, he knew he shouldn't assume anything else would ever happen. Davy would be a fool, after all, to willingly share Deanna.

They talked a little longer, and then, one by one, they drifted gently off to sleep, still in the same position, with Deanna between the guys. Peter was the last one to give in to sleep. Apparently there would be no lovemaking for him to hear or witness, and he silently mourned it, but looked forward eagerly to the fact that Davy would not be offended when he snuggled up against her again tonight . . .


	24. Chapter 24

Peter was awake, as he had been for nearly an hour. How could he sleep, anyway? He had a warm, sweet, curvy woman sleeping right next to him. She was on her back, and he was cuddled up to her side. Davy was cuddled up to her other side. She had a nightgown on, but the feel of her warm skin seeped right through it. He could imagine she was naked without much effort.

All was silent but for the tempo of Davy and Deanna's even breathing. When Deanna began to move, Peter froze, wondering which way she would turn. She stirred a bit more, and as if in slow motion, she rolled his way, and faced him, her hand flopping down, under the blanket as it was, and landing on his hip bone, a scant couple of inches from his erection.

Peter tried hard not to gasp, and he surprised himself by being successful, his sharp intake of breath moderated slightly by super-human effort. He was amazed he hadn't yelped and jumped up like he had yesterday morning. His mind began to go to the wrong place, and he valiantly fought off the urge to adjust his body just the slightest bit so that her hand would actually come into contact. Nothing, but nothing must happen that Davy wasn't aware of. He would not betray his best friend.

In her mostly asleep state, Deanna dipped her other hand under Peter's pillow, tunneling it under his head, and pulling herself closer to him, and although he experienced some pretty heavy-duty longing, in her sleepy condition, he knew she thought he was Davy. It would be wrong to capitalize on that.

He cleared his throat as her lower hand slid ever closer to his throbbing hard-on, desperate to extricate himself from this very delicate situation without calling attention to it.

Rather impossible.

Her hand slipped down just a little more, causing his tension to climb by leaps and bounds, and then it brushed against his cock, her fingers lightly sliding along it as Peter desperately held his breath, and then the unimaginable happened. Her fingers slowly closed around it. Sure, he still had his swim trunks on from last night because they'd fallen asleep without changing into pajamas, but the material was very thin. She might as well be touching it bare. By some miracle, Peter didn't make any noise. He gasped silently, because he was gravely in need of air, wondering if he should get up, or remain where he was. Oh fuck, he couldn't get up, even if he wanted to. He was too into this, too aroused. How often does one find oneself in this position? For him . . . _never._

Even though Deanna was still mostly unaware, she apparently did notice the difference in size, and figured out something wasn't right. Her eyes flew open, and in about two seconds, she was awake and realized what she'd done.

Her hand jerked back as if it had touched a searingly hot stove, and she instantly flipped herself over to face Davy. She had never even looked into his eyes. Suddenly, he was alone.

Two seconds earlier he'd had a warm, sexy, willing woman holding his cock. Why he felt left out, Peter couldn't clarify. She was Davy's girl, not his. He also knew she had to be stunned at what she'd mistakenly done. He felt sorry for her, even from the depths of his overwhelming desire. He was just grateful he hadn't lost control and had an orgasm. He'd come close, though. Too close.

He lay there for a while, partly in shock, afraid to indicate he was awake in any way. He didn't want to call attention to himself. What he really wanted was to disappear, just vanish into nothingness. She'd touched him there—grasped him firmly, and she'd felt that he'd been hard. No way could she have missed that. She probably figured that he had dirty thoughts all the time. About her. Well, truth be known, he did, but not in a bad way. In a good, loving way. He hated to even consider she would think otherwise of him.

He respected her, but sometimes erections gave women the opposite notion. They just assumed that if a guy got excited, that he was dirty minded, or expected something. Couldn't be further from the truth, in this case. He expected nothing from her; but his body, as usual, betrayed him and gave the wrong impression, making him look like a rake.

When the other two came full awake, he stirred too, as if he were just awakening, and everyone got up, Deanna meticulously avoiding Peter's eyes, although she had nothing to worry about, as he would not have been able to bring himself to look at her if his life had depended on it. Peter grabbed his clothes and went to the other tent to get dressed.

Deanna was making pancakes when Davy and Peter began laughing. She looked up to see what they were looking at, and there, peeking out of the tent was the tortoise's head. His shell was hidden, and his head and neck sticking around the flap looked like some kind of eerie snake.

"He smells breakfast," said Peter.

"You aren't going to give him pancakes, are you, babe?" Davy smiled at Peter.

"Of course not! I'll give him a pancake with banana slices on top. The pancake will serve as a plate."

And that was exactly what Peter did. They didn't have syrup, so Deanna searched around and found some jelly for their pancakes, which turned out to be very tasty. The tortoise enjoyed the banana slices with a bit of jelly. When he was finished, the pancake remained, cleaned to perfection, all traces of the banana gone.

The guys had about six pancakes each. Deanna was full after only two.

"Hey, I have an idea!" said Peter as they relaxed and cradled their coffee mugs, sipping and relishing the hot liquid after breakfast. "Let's try to fish today! A fresh fish dinner sure would be good."

Davy looked unconvinced. "We could try, I guess," but his voice carried doubt.

"I'll make a trap. I learned about it in boy scouts. You construct a trap where the fish can get in, but then can't get back out. In the meantime, we could fish a little distance away with bait. I'm sure we could find things to use as bait." Peter was really into the idea now.

"Yeah, considering otherwise it'll be canned chili tonight," reflected Davy. Kapena was due today, but he'd just have more canned food, and fresh food would be a welcome change.

"I brought twine, and I'm sure Deanna must have some bobby pins," Davy was suddenly getting involved in this fishing idea. Peter's excitement had carried over to him.

Deanna nodded. Davy showed Peter how to shape the bobby pin, then they found some insects, impaled them on the bobby pins, which were tied to the twine, and then he tied the twine to the end of a stick. After Peter set up his trap with rocks and sticks below the water in an area where they wouldn't frighten the fish away, Davy went beyond the reef and wrangled some fish inside the reef barrier where the water was shallow, and they'd have a better chance of nabbing one or more, if they were lucky.

When Kapena showed up, he was impressed to see what they were doing.

"Not bad," he mumbled as he examined the trap and the guys' makeshift fishing poles. "But the fish you herded inside the reef are going to be spooked and probably won't bite. You and the lady getting along better?" he asked Davy discreetly, in a low voice when Deanna and Peter were otherwise occupied.

"Oh yeah, your advice was solid. "She came around just like you said she would."

Kapena smiled and nodded. "As long as women feel they're loved, needed and protected, you're usually pretty good to go if they're into you in the first place."

"Well, thank you for the advice. Oh, and by the way, I wanted to ask you something," Davy was glad he'd remembered. "We found a desert tortoise here. Do you know anything about it?"

Kapena nodded. "Yeah, he's been here for God knows how many years. I don't come here often, as I told you people seldom ask me to bring them here, but when I_ have_ been here, I've seen him a few times. A few people on Maui have also mentioned seeing him here. As far as I know, he's been around for thirty, maybe forty years."

"How did he get here?"

"No clue. It's a puzzle. But he's done well for himself. Very healthy," commented Kapena.

"Yeah. And my friend has been giving him bananas in addition to all the greens and flowers he gets."

Kapena chuckled. "Animal lover, huh? Those are the best kinds of people."

As Kapena rowed off, and they waved goodbye, Davy thought about his comment about animal lovers. It was true, in Davy's experience, that animal lovers always seemed to be just a little kinder, a little softer, more compassionate than people who didn't care for them. Davy decided he'd much rather have an animal lover as a friend, because it did, indeed say a lot about a person's character.

Hey, Jonesy," called Peter. "I bet you won't stick your tongue into the sand."

Davy scrunched up his eyebrows. "What? Why would I even _want_ to do that?"

"Deanna bet me I wouldn't, but I'm going to." Peter had been taking a short break from fishing, and had been talking with Deanna.

Davy didn't even attempt to ask how they had gotten on such an off the wall subject. With Peter, anything could happen at any time. He loved to live in the moment, and squeeze as much fun as he could out of life. And he loved dares.

So Davy and Deanna watched as Peter buried his tongue straight down into the sand for about half its length, then sat up to proudly display his sand-coated tongue. Then he hurriedly ran to wash it off with their fresh water.

Deanna was truly impressed. She hadn't thought Peter would actually do it. Davy, however, knew better. He was well acquainted with Peter's shenanigans. Peter was good at entertaining himself and others when there was seemingly nothing to do. Micky was good at that too, and Davy found himself remembering how Micky would get so full of energy that he would literally run in place sometimes. A shadow of homesickness crossed over his expressive face for a moment, and Deanna saw it.

"What's wrong, Davy?" She'd been laughing at Peter, and then had seen Davy looking like a lost puppy.

"Just remembering how Micky is a clown, and missing home a little. Just a little, though. Being here with you and Peter is a gas and I dig it. But this is the first time I've been away, except to go to England."

She understood as she had moments where she missed her mother, Cassie, and yes, even Derrick. Derrick had a good heart after all. It was just that she didn't feel that spark for him. Nevertheless, she hoped they would remain friends.

* * *

That day, the guys got touchier than ever with each other. It had Deanna's undivided attention. They were so easygoing when together. As if they might have been close brothers. But . . . there was too much physical contact for that. An arm around a shoulder was one thing, but they had a penchant for touching frequently, joking around and doing things like pinching each other's cheeks. She found the affectionate play utterly appealing and alluring. But not brotherly.

They didn't have any luck fishing with the homemade poles, as Kapena had predicted, but Peter was delighted to find he'd caught two good sized fish in his trap when he checked it later in the afternoon. He was leaping and shouting, alarming both Deanna and Davy until they realized why.

"More than enough for all three of us tonight!" Peter announced proudly, as he held them up high for inspection. They all clapped and cheered in celebration.

The guys had some active time before dinner was prepared. Deanna studied them as they laughed and played, chasing each other, sharing an inside joke, yet never looking as if they were keeping anything back from her. She could sit there by the fire and watch them endlessly without it getting tiresome. Their zest for living was contagious. She felt the attraction they had for each other too, although Davy was clearly more reserved. Peter just threw himself at Davy, flirting in a guy-type of way. Davy seemed to be very much on the fence about it, as if he were afraid to cut loose and be himself. Deanna thought that was a shame, and a smattering of sadness touched her.

Peter and Davy cleaned the fish, Deanna preferring not to be a part of that procedure, although she watched tentatively, knowing she should learn how to do it, but not enjoying it.

In the firelight, they sat and ate the fish, which was some kind of snapper, after Deanna had fried it. She'd opened cans of potatoes and vegetables to go with it. The fish was moist and delicious. It practically melted in their mouths. Deanna was happy to see the guys eating it so eagerly.

"We'll have to catch more," said Davy. "I wouldn't mind having it a few times a week." Everyone agreed—the fish was a hit.

Deanna was feeling an odd kind of inspiration, suddenly sharply aware of the guys' eyes following her every move. It was heady, and it excited her, making the blood thrum in her core. She felt strangely powerful, knowing their appetite for her was as great or greater than it was for the fish. She fantasized about them being delirious, out of their minds with desire for her. But that was wrong . . . wasn't it? She wasn't supposed to feel that way, was she? She assumed she must just be in a very unusual mood. But she knew she couldn't deny her attraction to Peter.

As they drank coffee after dinner, the firelight shone in Davy's dark eyes, and Peter's lighter hazel ones, desire written in them. Deanna felt, for the third or fourth time tonight as if she were in a trance, almost suspended in time. She ate up all their attention, and the way they competed for her in their good natured way made her feel special. Davy did that all by himself, but now he was allowing Peter to join in as well, and she found it most addicting. Mesmerizing . . .

"I'm right knackered from all that fishing," said Davy. "Can I lay my head in your lap, Deanna?"

The thought made her faintly uneasy, although it normally wouldn't have. Peter's presence was influencing her thoughts, making her behavior more reserved, but that was natural, she reasoned.

Desire hit her without warning and ripped through her in waves as Davy laid his head on her lap. She was wearing shorts, but with no underwear, and it felt as if his head were on her bare skin.

Peter watched them as hunger came close to ripping a hole in his reserve. He was trying to appear casual, but the accumulation of both Davy and Deanna's flirty gestures was seriously getting to him. They had both been eyeing him all day. All three of them had been playing a precarious game, and sparks were flying. Peter wasn't sure what they expected of him, or_ didn't_ expect of him. All he knew was, he liked it.

He wasn't going to blow this bewitching spell they all seemed to be under, so he just kept a low profile and waited to see what might develop. That was absolutely the safest course of action.

"I sure enjoyed last night, didn't you, Pete?" asked Davy, carefully keeping a deceptively casual ring to his voice.

"Sure did." That was about as far as Peter felt he could safely go.

"We went to sleep quicker than we thought we would, didn't we?" Deanna's voice cut through the air.

"Yeah," said Davy, waggling his eyebrows at her. He knew what she was speaking of. The fact that they hadn't gotten a chance to make love when Peter was asleep because they gone to sleep themselves. Or maybe she'd been referring to wanting more kissing between the three of them. Either way, he was turned on just thinking about it.

Davy's eyes looked a little heavy lidded, and she noticed his chest moving quite rapidly. She felt that dagger of desire overtake her again. It jabbed her over and over. Where was this coming from? She'd felt the same way earlier when she had handed Peter his dinner plate, and their fingers had brushed against each other. Peter had smiled shyly, and his dimple had lost absolutely _none _of its appeal. It punched her in the gut just as hard as it did every time she saw it.

Davy's head still lying in her lap, Deanna could feel the back of his head and neck right against her sex, and she felt the blood pounding through it. He reached up and weaved his fingers through her hair, brushing her scalp as he did so. This touch was every bit as sexual as if he'd touched her breast. Davy was quite the master at seduction, and if she wasn't quite so shy about it, she just might have been tempted to rub her mound slightly on the back of his head. And if she _really _wanted to tease him, she could continue to rub. It might even bring her right to the brink. Peter's presence would hasten it, she was sure of it.

It would be fun to see how Davy would get himself out of such a situation. How would he escape? Get up abruptly under the guise of getting something in the tent? Say he had to visit the woods for a minute so Peter would think he had to pee? No, he'd likely enjoy it, and just encourage her.

_Oh, she was wicked, _enjoying these thoughts. Not wicked enough though. Not wicked enough to bring Davy pent-up sexual misery. She wasn't that cruel, but fantasizing about it didn't hurt anything.

The firelight played with Peter's abundant hair, highlighting all its many shades of blonde, reddish brown and gold. She knew how soft it was, and the urge to bury her hands into it was hard to contain. He flipped his head to get it out of his eyes, and she wondered if it didn't sometimes give him a headache. You would think it would play havoc with his neck, as many times a day as he did it. If she were him, she knew she wouldn't be able to tolerate her hair constantly falling into her eyes, and probably would cut it short in front out of exasperation. But if he did that, a chunk of his charm would go with it. Flipping his head was part of his personality, just as much as his dimple was. It was just Peter.

The firelight enhanced everything, the magic glow being a magnet for love or lust. That curious, atypical sparkle in Davy's eyes was hard to ignore. Not atypical for _Davy,_ but for anyone else, yes. She felt a burning wherever those big browns touched her. They seared right into her. It was impossible to ignore. A girl could get a complex very quickly under the intensity of his probing orbs that reflected the firelight so well.

Deanna got up to clean the now-cooled skillet and their utensils. She felt the guys' eyes on her instantly, and it felt like they were examining every part of her—but in a good way. She felt as feminine as she ever had in her life, their eyes roving, quietly appreciative.

When she sat back down next to Davy, Peter was sitting much, much closer. As if they'd discussed it, but she knew they hadn't. She would have heard them. They were using body language again, communicating seamlessly and being stealthy while they were at it.

The thing was, it was getting to her, and it was almost spooky because she didn't know what was in their heads—their flirtiness seemed so light-hearted, but it was also somber, more serious now that the day had ended. Peter's expression was a study in disarray, so she assumed he was as much in the dark about this as she was. In the dark and more than a little dubious, yet still following Davy's lead.

Davy, now sitting beside her, snuggled into her, taking away her personal space, something that she loved, every time he did it. It was bold and cute at the same time. But then, Peter began to do it too, and Deanna didn't know how to behave. Davy might be expecting her to object, or he might be hoping she wouldn't. She'd kissed Peter already; a little cuddling didn't seem too menacing. So she didn't retreat, but she didn't reciprocate a whole lot either. It seemed the safest avenue. She needed to feel out this situation and see what Davy's intentions were, since it seemed Peter was about as clueless as she was.

Peter followed Davy's example, but it wasn't easy. In the tent last night, it had somehow been less complicated and more natural than here, sitting by the fire. He tried to allow his own instincts to tell him how to conduct himself. It was still difficult though, as his fear of rejection was very real. And after that incident this morning . . .

As Davy kissed the side of her face and her neck, Peter rubbed her back. It seemed less invasive, less sexually intentioned. Deanna's hesitancy was palpable, and he knew, somehow, in his gut, that she had not had the experience that most of Davy's girlfriends had had when it came to intimacy. Davy was really the only savvy one here when it came to sensuality and the gift of bringing it to the fore.

Davy would have to be persuasive enough and smooth enough to help both Peter and Deanna along the path to wherever his destination was. Peter found himself fervently wishing Davy had been a little more clear-cut, a little more comprehensive when he'd talked to Peter about Deanna. He hadn't been the least bit explicit, and Peter now regretted he hadn't asked questions. Was this just a little game, or more? It was such a delicate subject . . .

_Pressure . . . that was it. There was no pressure_.

Unlike Deanna's past dealings with presumptuous men, these two were laid back and casual, and she knew there would be no hard feelings if she opted out of being so "up close and personal" with them. They wouldn't resent her, they wouldn't hate her. They would understand, and in fact, they would be worried about her. Because they cared. Truly cared. Just the reverse of the guys she'd dated. Knowing this made her want to actually be closer to them.

She wouldn't have gone for being hood-winked, but these two wouldn't do it, because they just didn't have it in them. And even if they'd been a_ little_ pushy she would still feel the same. A _little_ pushy could sometimes be sexy.

Good grief. Vibrant, virile masculinity surrounding her. But blended with cuteness, impishness, charisma. It was the perfect fantasy. Davy apparently felt no threat from Peter. In fact, the two of them were attracted to _each other_ as well, so how bad could that be? She didn't know what all of this meant, but the second-guessing going on in her mind was overwhelming. She knew the odds of all three of them being attracted to each other was probably statistically low, and she wondered if she should feel fortunate or apprehensive.

She got up to get Davy another cup of coffee when she saw his mug was empty. Two sets of male eyes watched her shapely legs under her shorts as she moved. Their heads moved as one. She watched them without turning her head. She poured the coffee into Davy's cup, and he reached up, startling her just a little, to put his free hand on the back of her neck to draw her in for a kiss.

It was demanding, that kiss. As if he were branding her. His lips moved over hers in an insistent way, making her feel off balance and light headed. Regaining her composure somewhat, she noticed Peter's cup was almost empty.

Realizing what she was doing, she refilled his cup with what she hoped looked like confidence and control. As he accepted it, he looked up at her, his expression full of innocence, vulnerability. Her heart thundered in her ears.

Was she bold enough to kiss him too, as she had Davy? Well, really, to be fair, Davy had more less_ taken_ the kiss. Peter looked expectant, yet self-doubting, tremulous. She would never just assume he'd kiss her the way Davy had. He was still exploring very new territory. She had to make a decision now, or the moment would pass.

She bent over, and he lifted his head, the hope for a promise fulfilled shining clearly in his eyes. Yes, by bending over a little too far to merely pour into his cup, she'd made the promise. It was written in stone now, too late to turn back. Electricity seemed to slam through her.

A split second before she committed herself to kissing Peter, Deanna glanced at Davy, needing to know where he stood. Approval was written all over his face. She closed in and Peter's parted lips absorbed hers. Completely devouring. His hesitation was dissolving into thin air. The difference in him was a thrill. He was gaining confidence and inner strength steadily. She wondered what this all meant.

Peter was so inspired that she was forced to sit down because her legs wouldn't hold her up any longer. She needed to concentrate on his lips, and not standing. Davy moved to allow her some room. While kissing Peter, she was pretty much numb to anything else around her until she discovered Davy had begun to thread his fingers through her hair again.

In the quietness, the peace of the island, all that could be heard was the whoosh of the waves, and Deanna's dream-like state continued. Her heart felt like it had expanded, a warm rush pulsing in her chest. She really couldn't be certain if it _was _a dream. Reality was slipping away from her. That was good, she reasoned, because she didn't want it to vanish. Reality had a way of ending, and she didn't want to give this up.

She felt immersed in the tenderness, the lack of urgency. Lying between them on a blanket, under the astounding number of stars, she went back to kissing first one, then the other, just as she'd done last night.

Peter sliced a glimpse of Davy's face in between kisses, and was taken aback. He'd never seen Davy this aroused. The Brit's eyes were looking as if he were both blissed and blitzed. He'd seen Davy with girls before, but he'd never seen this particular brand of passion in his expression. Extreme, gripping passion. The guy looked like he was completely overcome. The sight aroused Peter to new heights. Good God, but Davy and Deanna both turned him on to no end.

As they lay together, things were really heating up, and Deanna's body was making connections with Peter's in all the right places. As she rolled once more onto her left side to kiss Peter after a long kiss with Davy, she was touching him from her breasts all the way down to their feet. He felt the pressure of her pubic bone, felt the intensity of her yearning, knew she was way past flirting, and it was almost too much for him.

He felt the urgency building, his cock kept jerking because he was just that close. It was building . . . building. If she kept kissing him like this—voraciously, and letting her pelvis come in contact with his, he was afraid he'd humiliate himself. But there was no stopping her. When she rocked gently against his crotch with her own, entwining her legs with his, he started to pull back, realizing it was already too late.

_Too late._

All he could do was grab her, hiding his face in her neck as he went careening right over the edge. The orgasm blasted through him, he felt himself shaking violently, and he whimpered.

"Peter," she sounded drunk on desire, yet concerned. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't even talk. He was right in the middle of this mountain-moving orgasm, and she was asking him a question. Oh God, grant him some mercy!

"Just . . . just . . . hold me," he just barely managed to croak out. His pelvis was thrusting through no effort of his own. He couldn't have stopped it if he'd wanted to. It was primal. He rode it out, the whimpers escalating quickly into groans that he just could not suppress. On and on it seemed to go, as he clutched Deanna tightly to him, nearly hurled into insanity with the incredible potency of it.

When at last he eased back down, he gradually loosened his hold on her, keeping his face in her neck so she couldn't see his face. He wasn't sure if she knew what had happened

Davy knew though, as he lifted his hand from the front of his pants so Deanna wouldn't see that he'd been rubbing himself. There was a smug, satisfied smile on his face.

But it didn't last for long because Peter sprung to his feet and vanished into the twilight that was fast becoming darkness. Davy set out after him, yelling over his shoulder at Deanna that they'd be back, and he'd explain then.

It didn't take long to catch up to Peter. The blonde soon tired of running, and Davy had very good endurance.

"Hold it, man!" Davy called to Peter over the sound of the surf. Peter finally stopped and bent over, gulping in lungfuls of air, his hands braced on his knees. Davy waited for him to catch his breath, and when Peter straightened, he grabbed Peter's shoulders, turning him in an attempt to make him look at him.

"Pete, it's nothing to freak out about. Happens to everyone at some time or another. When I was with a girl for the first time . . . um, never mind. Too much information. Deanna's not a kid-she's a woman, and she can handle it."

"Handle it? How?" Peter hung his head so he didn't have to look into Davy's eyes.

"She's not gonna dislike you because of it, man. Believe me, she'll understand."

"Fuck, David, it's so embarrassing." For a minute there, Davy feared Peter was going to start crying, But as he'd gained more maturity over the last year or so, he'd mostly outgrown that.

"Yeah, sure it's embarrassing, you know, but it's all a part of life. Some things can't be avoided. None of us are perfect." As he'd done so many times in the past, Davy reassured him, did what he did best, which was to finesse the situation, and Peter was feeling grateful again to have this loyal friend of his. Life would be so much more complicated and rocky if not for Davy to help guide him.

"Look at it this way. At least Deanna, you see, will know how much you really want her."

Well . . . he hadn't looked at it quite that way. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. "But how will I wash and change without her noticing?"

"I'll tell you what, mate. I'll go back and get Deanna into the tent. Then you can come in and get your pajamas as if you're going to change into them, and then wash up outside where she won't see you. I'll keep her busy inside." Davy's eyes were twinkling as he realized Peter was coming around. Things would be alright.

"Oh, but don't keep her _too_ busy!" But then, on a more serious note, "What do I say to her if she asks what happened?" Peter regarded him with beseeching eyes.

Now, this was a tough one. Davy had to think of something fast. But he couldn't come up with a thing. Peter couldn't very well say he'd had to pee _right then,_ and that was the only thing that came to mind. Not many things caused a guy to get up and run away from a girl like that when they were in a hot embrace.

"Want me to explain it to her? Davy went for broke, hoping he didn't really spook Peter. "I mean, she probably already knows, but just in case she doesn't, I could tell her, and then she wouldn't ask you."

Peter was plunged in deep thought. No matter what they did, he would still come out looking so inmature, so _amateurish._

"Can you explain that it can happen to any guy too? Just so she doesn't think I'm goofy?"

Davy admonished himself to keep a straight face. "Of course I can, and I will." He meant it too—he would do his best. Peter deserved no less.

"Well, okay then. Just don't get too carried away in the tent before I get there," And the two of them chuckled and began walking back to the tent, Peter eager yet full of misgivings and Davy trying to be unflappable and sanguine. Their arms naturally went around each others' shoulders, Davy looking forward to the reception Deanna would give them.

So it caught him by surprise when the stab of desire caught him completely unprepared, brought on by none other than Peter's arm draped over him, his hand resting on Davy's opposite shoulder.

_There it was again . ._ . _and God, but it felt good._


	25. Chapter 25

Deanna had been restlessly pacing, wondering if she should stay here or follow them. She decided to stay put. There was nothing she could do. She didn't know why Peter had taken off like that, but Davy was perfectly capable of getting to the bottom of it. He knew Peter well, and he didn't need her tagging along. All she knew was Peter had been extremely aroused, and she herself had been breathless with lust when he'd just up and left in a fleeting rush. Not exactly a compliment for anyone to covet. Perhaps he feared Davy would get jealous.

When she stepped outside and saw them returning, arms draped around each other's shoulders and smiling, relief flooded her. Their smiles were genuine, so she knew things were cool, at least for the moment. Davy whisked her into the tent, and a minute later Peter came in and grabbed his pajamas, smiling briefly and leaving, saying he'd be back in a few minutes. It was very early for pajamas, as it was still mostly light out, but Deanna figured Peter must have a good reason. Maybe, after visiting, he was planning to retire to the other tent for the night?

Davy pulled her down on the sleeping bag. "While Peter's busy, I need to explain what happened," he said.

"That would be nice, because it was weird the way he left."

"Well . . . you see, he had a . . . a _mishap," _Davy realized how odd that must sound.

Deanna stared at him, no comprehension in her eyes. "What kind of mishap?"

Davy knew he shouldn't be bashful about this subject with her, but it was a little uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Well, he got . . . too excited and . . . got past the point of no return."

Davy had tried to think of another way of putting it, but saying Peter "blew his wad" didn't sound at all proper. And _definitely _not romantic.

Deanna's eyes went wide with sudden understanding. "You mean he . . . _came_?"

Davy nodded. "Yeah, he came. It kind of caught him by surprise, and he flipped out over it, and that's why he ran. He didn't know what to do." He sure hoped Deanna would have mercy on Peter, and not think less of him. "It happens to guys sometimes, especially when they haven't been with many girls," Davy remembered his promise to Peter to add that part to his explanation. "He was turned on to the max—because of _you."_

"Oh, poor Peter!" she said quietly. "I wondered why he was . . . moving around like that. Almost thrashing. And that's why he's washing up for so long."

"How did you know that?"

"I can hear the water splashing. He's rinsing out his pants too."

Davy couldn't hear anything. All he could hear was the surf and the tortoise, who was busy scratching at the side of the tent again. It seemed though, that women could concentrate on several things at once, and men became adrift if they tried to focus on more than one thing at a time.

"I feel so _clueless,"_ she said. "Like I need to get out more. You'd think I would have realized what was happening." She cast her eyes downward shyly. "It's not as if I'm a virgin or anything."

"Perfectly understandable," Davy was quick to reassure her. "I imagine it would be hard to absorb if you haven't had that happen with a guy before." Actually, he was surprised it_ hadn't_ happened to her before. She was one hell of a desirable woman. The kind wet dreams are made of. She had both he and Peter completely smitten. She still didn't realize the enormity of it though. She was so . . . wholesome, so uninformed. He kind of liked it though.

Deanna didn't know if she should feel complimented or not by what Davy had said about Peter being so turned on by her, but it certainly sounded as if she should. It was funny, sad and sweet all at the same time.

What did you think of it?" she asked, suddenly curious to hear Davy's point of view.

"Truthfully? I thought it was flamin' hot."

Deanna laughed quietly, so Peter wouldn't hear. "I do too, now that I know what actually happened."

Davy let out a big sigh. "I'm glad you aren't upset, because Peter's really embarrassed."

"I noticed his hips, um, _grinding,_ but I didn't know it got that far. I won't act as if I know," she said.

"Oh, he knows I'm telling you."

"Oh . . . he does? How should I act then?" Deanna didn't have glimmer of a clue on how to manage this.

"Just act natural, as if nothing happened."

"Got it," said Deanna just as Peter came into the tent, in his pajamas.

"Hi guys," he said, his face giving nothing away. That signature wide smile of his. So fresh, cheeks rosy, innocuous. Davy was impressed. This guy had a hidden talent. He was a very effective actor. He was hiding his embarrassment exceedingly well.

They sat and talked for a while, Peter's eyes flicking toward Deanna, then looking away. That was the only indication that he was perturbed. He surprised her when, half an hour later, he turned to her.

I'm sorry about what happened earlier," he said, not excluding Davy, but rather including him with a shy smile. Deanna knew he was feeling clumsy at the very least.

"I had an idea, but I wasn't sure . . . how far it had gone," she said, crossing her fingers that he wouldn't be offended. "But Davy explained. Don't worry about it," she added quickly, looking everywhere but into Peter's eyes, and trying to appear casual, knowing she was failing.

Peter felt his shaft thickening and lengthening. He wanted her, in a monumental way. He was still feeling strangely about Davy too, because on their walk back to the tent, Davy had been warm, up against his side, and he'd gotten that old, familiar tingle he'd felt so many times in the past. Having a beautiful girl around wasn't making a difference either. He was still hopelessly attracted to his friend.

Deanna was experiencing a quickening in her belly as they sat there Indian style, close together, yet not touching, all three of them mulling over the earlier incident, but not discussing it. The warmth of their masculinity was everywhere. It surrounded her, enfolded her. Warm, dark desire knifed through her. It was almost more than she could withstand. She was the center of attention, and while it was intoxicating, she knew it was also potentially treacherous. Men were so naturally competitive, and that knowledge gnawed at her, even though these two were close friends. This same concern had nagged at her before.

She could so easily become an incentive for them to be aggressive with each other. She had never had brothers, so she wasn't sure what exactly might set a guy off. She didn't have much experience with guys except for the ones she'd dated . . . and slept with. And those had been typical-not very communicative. Derrick was her only male friend. The entire male gender was still an enigma to her.

Edging closer to her, Davy began to practice his seduction skills. Before long, he was kissing Deanna, and revving things up in front of Peter. Since when had he become kinky? Or had it been there all along? This whole thing was making him question whether he knew himself at all. Why did Peter's presence turn him on when he made moves on Deanna? He had noticed that Deanna had taken it up a notch with teasing Peter, and it hadn't made him jealous. It had only amped him up more. There was definitely something wrong with that. It was of particular interest to him, and it disturbed him.

He had seen how she had swung her hips a little more than necessary, and flaunted her feminine assets. She bent over frequently, putting her cleavage on display, placing her hand on Peter's forearm in passing. Deanna was actually _flirting_ with his band mate and friend, and it didn't spark any insecurities in him. But poor Peter was not sure how he should react. Davy knew what from the bewildered look in Peter's eyes.

After hearing the scratching, Peter got up and brought the tortoise in, putting him in the corner with a blanket over him as he'd done last night. The animal settled right in.

"The tortoise gets tucked in, but we don't," Davy teased, having given Deanna a little break from kissing, as the intensity threatened to overwhelm him. Besides that, he wanted Peter engaged, not just watching on.

"I'll be happy to tuck you in. Get into your pajamas," suggested Peter.

None of them had anticipated Peter saying that. Davy was thrown off kilter. But he didn't know if it was innocence talking, as in really _go get into your pajamas, _literally, or if Peter was playing along. With Peter, you often didn't know.

"But I sleep naked sometimes." Now, what on earth had made him say that? It was true—he _did _sometimes sleep naked when it was warm. He knew Peter did too. He had to admit to himself that this statement exposed an obvious objective.

_We might indeed have to make the choice for her, or present her with options. Let her decide exactly what she wants. She's too loyal. I know she's turned on by Peter. But she wouldn't want to hurt me. I don't think she'd go past kissing Peter unless I stay actively involved. That means, the three of us, together._

He and Peter would have to work together. He wanted to give this to Deanna, not himself. As a present, and just maybe a permanent one. She and Peter were very attracted to each other, that much was a cinch. And even though Davy was skeptical about taking it anywhere, he knew he and Peter were creating sparks too. Making Deanna happy was most important, aside from the fact that it excited him—the thought of her and Peter together. He wanted to satisfy her completely. Peter couldn't be more perfect for the job. Peter would keep his mouth shut—especially when they got home, and his undying faithfulness to Davy would seal the deal. He was a staunch, steadfast friend that Davy trusted to the ends of the earth. All the other planets too.

_It just felt right._

_What was wrong with her_? To have such thoughts? She would give just about anything to read Davy and Peter's minds. What alarmed her most of all was that she was behaving more like her friend Cassie than herself. The difference though, was she wasn't doing it solely for the pleasure. She had feelings for Peter. She was falling fast for him. It had only been a matter of days that he'd been here, and she had seen almost right away what Davy saw in him.

And now Davy was proposing they sleep naked? She knew the implication. He wanted them _all_ naked under the blanket. The same blanket.

"I do too," said Peter, referring to Davy's earlier statement about sleeping naked. Once again, he was either simply stating a fact, or he was going along with the game, following Davy's lead, like he so often did.

"Okay, so we'll get undressed, and you tuck us in," Davy said, and then immediately felt remorse. That had sounded so childish, like they were a bunch of ten year olds. There _had _to be a more mature way of dealing with this. But he couldn't very well just come out and say, "Let's take this farther . . ."

Or could he?

It wouldn't be wise. Women didn't generally like things such as this to be discussed so frankly. Why they preferred open communication about everything else, yet not this, was beyond his scope of understanding. He supposed though, that discussing it could ruin the romantic aspect of it for Deanna. She wasn't a robot. She didn't take it lightly either. She was a female human being, with the unique feelings that go along with being female. She would want things to just kind of _happen._ Peter, he surmised, needed more specifics.

Davy certainly wasn't going to give them play by play instructions. It would kill any chance of anything being even close to impromptu. And he knew that it would be the fastest avenue to at least disinterested indifference, if not outright resentment on Deanna's part. He'd have to remedy this fast.

"Pete, can you please go stoke the fire? I think it needs it," Davy requested.

The second Peter was gone, Deanna grabbed Davy before he could say a word. "Let's do it," she said earnestly.

_Did he hear her right?_

"Really?" he asked, not absolutely, indisputably certain what she meant, but very hopeful nonetheless.

"Let's dispose of our clothes while he stokes the fire," she said hurriedly. "Yes or no?"

_Hell yes!_ He wanted to shout, but instead, began taking his clothes off from underneath the blanket. Peter was adding a couple of logs, so that gave them sufficient time. Davy was about to burst from anticipation, but hid it behind his rather accomplished air of dignity and sophistication. Lord knows, he'd practiced it enough, and it was coming in handy here.

When Peter re-entered the tent, Davy and Deanna were under the blanket, so he had no idea about their state of undress.

"The fire oughta be good for a little while," he said as he sat down on the sleeping bag. There was some illumination inside the tent from the moon and also the flashlights they always set up at night. It was the equivalent of a night light, but somehow—or maybe it was her imagination, or her expectant state of mind . . . there seemed to be a glow that was positively romantic.

Peter's eyes shifted from green to light brown and back again, and as she stared into them, enchanted, she saw the many flecks of gold, bronze and even gray highlighting his irises. Davy saw it too—although not the detail Deanna picked up on, but rather how generally delectable Peter looked, how sexy.

When Peter slipped under the blanket, expecting only some kissing, he quickly ascertained a startling, yet very pleasant and titillating fact. Deanna was naked. Nothing but bare skin met him when she welcomed him with a hug. Her bare breasts against his chest, her sweet scent. He quivered noticeably. Davy was right up against her back, and when the blanket slipped down as it invariably did, he saw that his friend was also stark naked.

As fascinated and delighted with Deanna as he was, Peter found himself trying to get a glimpse of Davy's body when the blanket permitted it. When arising in the morning at the Pad, the guys had always pulled on their underwear before getting out of bed, or _as_ they got out of bed, so Peter didn't get much opportunity to feast his eyes on Davy. Except his butt, and that was appealing enough in and of itself. On the few occasions he'd seen Davy get out of the shower, he'd managed to forestall himself from gawking, but it had been quite a struggle to avert his gaze. He'd had to force himself.

Okay, so he wasn't going to fool himself—it had been an almost insurmountable task not to look, but he had nevertheless turned away because his greatest fear was that Davy would decide he'd rather share a room with one of the other guys, because he would feel uncomfortable with Peter's eyes on him.

It felt so glorious to be near both of them, although he would have preferred to be between Deanna and Davy. This still was far and away the best experience Peter had ever had in the intimacy category. It rated above even hot pizza, ice cream, lounging around drinking his favorite beer. Funny that all these activities usually included Davy. His all-time favorite though, was wearing his footie pajamas under a blanket on the couch at the Pad, with Davy right beside him.

_This experience though, with Deanna . . . even this included Davy._

A dream come true, it was. Being British, that was the way Davy might have worded it, and Peter smiled, imagining Davy's voice saying just that. Davy worked hard to sound like an American, as it was, for some reason, important to him, but his expressions backslid often. Peter didn't want his friend to ever lose that accent and those endearing expressions from his homeland. It was part of his charm.

He wondered if Davy was as interested in his body as he was in Davy's. Oftentimes, he didn't think so, but he also knew Davy might just relent with a little persuasion. Davy wasn't outwardly, obviously, giving things away, but on occasion Peter suspected that Davy was curious, and maybe, just maybe, it surpassed that. After all, Davy had admitted that he'd thought his feelings had been caused by their music. But Davy was proud. Naturally so. Denial—he bet his friend was in denial.

Peter wanted to grab for Deanna's luscious, naked body, but he checked himself sharply. You didn't treat a lady like that, no matter how much you might want her. His mother had installed that in him, and he was glad for that. At least he knew _something,_ no matter how small, about women.

"Someone here still has their pajamas on," Davy's voice had dropped to that silken quality that Deanna loved.

"Oh, sorry about that," and Peter slipped out from under the blanket and stood up, peeling his pajamas off, right in front of them. Peter was like that, very comfortable with his body. Davy knew this, but he wondered what Deanna thought.

Deanna couldn't stop staring as she watched this hot, Adonis-like guy casually take all his clothes off without a care. Peter's cock was fully erect, and the sight of that alone made Deanna's breath hitch in her throat. Magnificent was the only word that came to mind. He was hung like none other she'd ever seen.

Peter slipped back under the blanket and waited to see what came next.

"Get in close, Pete," urged Davy. The three of them embraced, and Peter felt the tendons in Davy's forearms bulging. Those same tendons he'd examined visually so often when Davy wasn't aware of it. After the hug was completed, Peter had not hung onto her, thinking she might think he was being overbearing or perhaps demanding, assuming.

But Deanna opened her arms again, and he melted into them again. She grasped the hair at his nape and pulled him to her lips. At least he knew where he stood—she wanted to kiss him. Eagerly, almost too eagerly, his mouth joined with hers, in a sucking kiss that seemed to have a positive effect on her.

For the first time, her tongue played with his lower lip, then dipped inside to lick his tongue. He almost hit the ceiling, it was so amorous. As the kiss got more involved, he sucked at her tongue, almost desperate to get closer. She was steadily peeling his inhibitions away.

Her hands, woven in his silky hair, began to caress the back of his neck. His hair fell down over his forehead and brushed against her face. She moaned with the intensity of the kiss, now sucking his tongue in return. Peter didn't think he'd ever return to earth, nor did he want to. Who knew a kiss could practically be an orgasm in the mouth?

The scuff of his beard was tantalizing. The hair on his chest brushed her nipples until they were fully extended and puckered. Pre-come escaped his erection, which was pressed against her belly. He didn't kiss with Davy's experience, but when she responded keenly and wholeheartedly, he instinctively answered her with incredible enthusiasm, which made up for it. He was a diamond in the rough, and she would love having the privilege of smoothing him out and polishing him.

He swirled his tongue against hers now, evaluating, testing. His reward was more moans, and her body molded right against his for a perfect fit.

Peter was the perfect blend of wholesome cleanliness, and boiling hot, horny sexiness. Wow. She wanted to devour all of him as he was devouring her mouth.

Yes . . . yes. Davy was kissing the back of her neck—nuzzling, nipping, his breathing raspy and strained. She knew he was terribly aroused, because he realized Peter was finally letting go, surrendering to Deanna's charms. Davy could_ feel_ it. Right through Deanna's body. Deanna knew the entire story just by his ambiance.

It was sultry, it was powerful. She could hardly process it. But she did know one thing without a single doubt.

She wanted more.

She broke the kiss and skimmed her hands over the heated flesh of Peter's chest. The roughness of the hair there was such a contrast to Davy's smooth chest. His breath hitched and held for a second as time seemed to pause. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed the stubble on his cheek, working her way over to his lips once more.

He was ready, so astoundingly ready. She'd never been kissed so lavishly in her life. Everything in him was zeroed in on that kiss. That never-ending, succulent, lingering kiss. His mouth moved slowly, yet she felt all the passion that was harnessed, and she felt how difficult it was for him to contain himself. And she appreciated him all the more.

One of his hands rested on her upper back, the sensitive skin of his forearm inevitably coming in contact with the side of her breast, soft and yielding, causing him to pant as it granted him access in such a subtle way.

As another fabulous kiss finally concluded, Davy's hands closed under Deanna's arms, lifting her very slowly, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter, sliding her up so that soon her breasts were directly in front of Peter's face. Not only in front, but actually touching and rubbing up against his face as she breathed in and out.

_All over his face._ Davy knew Peter would never have the courage to do it himself, so he'd made it easy for him. He knew Peter well, as Peter had never made a move on him in the years they'd lived at the Pad, even feeling the way he did, so he knew Peter would be just as unpresuming with Deanna.

Peter nuzzled. Just a bit. He couldn't help it—they were _right there._ Inviting him, tantalizing him in the most phenomenal way. It was remarkable, wondrous, that he should be this fortunate. He didn't realize Davy had manipulated her into the right position, but that was good, because he thought Deanna was offering herself to him so unabashedly. And that fueled his courage and desire. Desire that was already flooding him.

With Peter's face nestling into her breasts, Deanna felt a new rush of wetness between her legs. She fisted his hair, coaxing him, pleading with him silently, to use his mouth on her. Her passion was overflowing, out of control. She wouldn't have been this brazen on her own. Davy had saved the day, been their guide, coaxing them in his muted, understated way.

Peter opened his eyes for the first time since her breasts had assaulted him, to see her light pink nipples, stiff and prominent, jutting out, and his mouth watered. They were calling his name.

Peter recalled seeing Davy on the couch with a girl once, when the couple had thought there was no one in the room. True, Peter had sneaked up on them, bending over as if to examine some record albums in the corner of the room, in the event that they might look up and see him. He had witnessed Davy's head underneath the girl's blouse, so he knew it must be something girls enjoyed.

His own brief sexual escapades had been rushed and unfeeling. Like animals, the few girls he'd been with had ridden his cock, but little else. He had had no time to explore, investigate, learn. They had been horny, and that had been the extent of it. The act had been completed quickly, both because Peter hadn't yet learned control, and because the girls had wanted quick satisfaction. They hadn't been out for a relationship or even tender feelings. And, sadly, he hadn't known how to bring them to ecstasy.

Those club girls had been nearly savage, practically raping him, if it were possible to rape a guy who always seemed to have an unceasing hard-on. Musicians turned them on, and Peter had gained scant experience with them, but enough to know he didn't ever want a girl like that. He needed more. And he also had sinking feeling that they were thinking of Davy, imagining_ he_ was Davy, because the guys were in the same band. He'd had to play second-fiddle. In essence, his very limited sex life had been a disaster.

So he was leery of a repeat of those episodes that were a release, but not much more. He had always seemed to be in Davy's shadow. Not that he minded, because he felt Davy deserved the spotlight. Davy was perfect in Peter's eyes. The Brit also knew how to play to the crowd, making him even more magnetic, whereas Peter, with his shyness, didn't quite have that talent down. Davy had gotten Peter some girls that way. Teasing them as he did, without even trying, and then turning them loose on Peter while he disappeared.

Peter was pretty sure Davy had done it on purpose. Davy knew Peter needed action and know-how in the worst way. But what those incidents had lacked was what sex should really be all about in Peter's mind—the tender feelings. It always came back to that.

So here he was—smothered in Deanna's breasts and not sure what to do. Well, it seemed pretty clear-cut, but still . . . what if he made a wrong move? He wanted to be a part of them, this beautiful couple who so generously were including him, and it encouraged him that Davy wanted that too, or he wouldn't be inspiring it. He just had a fear of being a flop, a failure.

"Kiss them . . ." Davy's voice was smooth and even. "It's alright."

Okay, so Davy was letting him know it wouldn't be breaking the rules, or inappropriate. How he hated being in the dark about women!

His lips sought her flesh, finding it so inviting that he was glad he'd come earlier, making a premature ejaculation not as likely this time. Her breasts were full, yet not overly large. Not saggy at all, but enticingly uplifted, just as nice as he'd seen in magazines.

His tongue snaked out and caught the edge of her nipple, causing her to shudder, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer for more-more exposure to his mouth.

He could do that, although he wasn't sure of the exact method—what she would like. You learn by trying, and if you don't try, you don't learn, Mike had once said, and since Mike's words were always full of wisdom, Peter decided to try his best. His best to make her feel good, to make her want him.

Some things just come naturally, and he followed his instincts. He licked her nipple fully this time, and her gasp and quickened breath told him it felt just as sinfully good to her as it did to him. But then, how could it _possibly _feel as good for her? He was dying with the pleasure.

He took a deep breath of what he hoped was grit, and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

"Oh . . ." she was now pulling hard and steadily on his hair, and he knew this had to be a good sign. So he sucked. It had quite a different effect than he had expected. She nearly came unglued. Her sighs, her moans, her wriggling told him she was either in pain or ecstasy. He guessed it to be the latter. It _had _to be the latter, or she'd be pulling away, and she was far, far from doing that.

He heard Davy's rough breath and knew his friend was enjoying the spectacle. So Peter settled into a steady suckling, hardly able to keep from rocking his hips a little as he did so.

The feel of his lips, his tongue and the inside of his mouth on her nipple made bolts of pleasure rip right through Deanna. Davy's rock hard erection against her butt, Peter's mouth stimulating her nipples—it was all too much. Too much for the average mortal, and too much for _her._

After what seemed like forever, Davy rolled her over and climbed down between her legs. He made certain as he did so, that Peter had a good view. He knew the guy didn't know much, so every bit of information Peter could glean from watching would be pivotal in Peter's eventual success with Deanna.

Peter's eyes went back and forth from Davy's hard-on to Deanna's lovely nether regions. Davy's fingers were on her now, and he was concentrating on one spot. That must be the spot that Peter had heard drove women wild.

Davy massaged it lightly for a short time, then moved on to inserting his finger. Peter was not aware of another thing—all his concentration was on what Davy was doing. Peter could see Davy's finger was very moist when he pulled it out, it gleamed in the moonlight, and that sent Peter into overdrive with excitement. When guys talked about a girl being "wet," this is what they meant. Davy slipped his finger all the way in, and Deanna's hips raised, her knees falling apart with the most wonderful kind of surrender. Now, two fingers disappeared. Deanna's chest volleyed up and down as Davy's fingers curled upward, and Peter realized then that there was a spot in there, like the one on the outside, that made Deanna jerk and get red hot.

Davy thrust his fingers in and out, now more vigorously, and Peter watched on, intrigued, as Deanna began to pant and whimper. That was when Davy, with perfect timing, parted her petals and swooped down on her. Peter had to concentrate on not shooting his load as Davy lifted the hood and exposed the little, very sensitive nub there. It was erect, like a tiny penis. He made sure Peter was watching, and was close enough to see, but he was subtle about it. It was barely visible, but Peter saw what Davy homed in on.

What Davy did next ripped the breath from Peter's lungs. Davy lowered his head and took her sex into his mouth. Peter struggled to breathe past the constriction in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Stay here and watch? It was evident that was what Davy wanted. And how could he have torn himself away, anyway?

He watched as Davy sucked and licked, moaning deep in his throat, Deanna still whimpering, but that soon turned into indecipherable pleas. The sounds, the heady smells, the sight a foot away from him. It was all almost too much for Peter to bear.

Then Deanna was exploding in what Peter figured must be an orgasm. He'd never brought a girl to one, so he didn't know, but it was pretty hard to miss. She squealed and wriggled so much that Peter wondered how Davy managed to stay with her. It lasted an eternity, and while Peter was incredibly embarrassed, it also seemed like he would bust his pants open, his cock was that hard, throbbing that much.

Davy brought her down gently, gradually, Peter noting everything he did, and after resting for a few moments, Davy dragged himself up her body and Peter saw his cock, moist from pre-come, disappearing into Deanna's body. Right in front of his eyes. It was like the best porn movie Peter had ever seen. But this included love, caring, sweetness, along with the sex. Nothing could be better.

Peter continued to watch as Davy began to move. Very slowly at first, kissing her lips, her neck, her breasts. Stimulating every part of her body his mouth could reach as he fucked her. Everything was done at leisure, even though Peter knew Davy's need was urgent. He knew this because Davy was breaking out into a sweat, and gasping for breath.

Peter also noted how tender Davy was. Peter didn't see him that way often because Davy was naturally aggressive and outgoing. This was a different side of Davy, and it was fascinating. A side Peter hadn't seen, and wanted to see more of.

Davy picked up the pace. Now he was pulling almost all the way out between thrusts, then sinking all the way back in, his hips beginning to jerk spasmodically, occasionally out of rhythm because of his overwhelming desire. Faster, Davy grunting now, and finally, Peter sensed when Davy's need became acute, because his hips began to piston in and out of her, faster still, the intensity escalating to a fever pitch until Davy cried out, almost startling Peter, and judging by his frantic movements, Peter knew he'd reached climax.

It was stunningly beautiful, and it made Peter ache. His face was flushed—he could feel it. His heart thudded like thunder in his chest, he shook and trembled.

Deanna was crushing Davy to her, making as much noise as he was. After many more thrusts that became less and less fervent, Davy hat last collapsed on Deanna, still caressing her, kissing her shoulder, murmuring sweetly to her. That murmuring was just as sexy as the rest of it.

But what now? As the couple wound down, suddenly, in a heartbeat, Peter felt like an outsider. He didn't know what to do, how to act. Lots of questions began to enter his mind, despite his insistently throbbing dick.

What was he? Just a pawn, an instrument to bring them more pleasure because of his presence?

Was Davy just giving him a show? And letting Peter kiss her just for thrills? Where did he come in on all this? Were they just playing with him? Peter suddenly felt almost sick. If this was a game they were playing, it meant they had done it only for the high it gave them to make love in front of him. At the same time though, he knew that no, Davy wasn't like that. Surely he wouldn't be that cruel, would he? Peter really could not bring himself to believe that.

Even so, he wondered if this was to be his destiny. To always be second-best or worse because he lacked the sophistication, the graciousness that Davy possessed so naturally. That little bit of swagger, that touch of cockiness, the confidence that Peter had never quite been able to master. Never too much, never too little. Davy always knew just what dose to administer. He was fine-tuned in courtliness and finesse. And yes, that little bit of occasional sassy attitude thrown in haphazardly made the women lose their heads; their common sense no longer existed. And Peter envied him.

_He wasn't dynamic like Davy._

Peter remembered the few girls he'd been to bed with. Three to be exact. He had ended up feeling used, like something temporary until they found what they really wanted. It was like they'd just utilized him to get off. He was a throw-away. There hadn't been a connection, and therefore, he'd never learned how to satisfy a woman, how to conduct himself to make her feel special in a way so that she might want to someday fall in love with him.

Crushed and miserable, he felt left out . . .


	26. Chapter 26

As Deanna emerged from the prolonged fog of intoxication Davy had inspired, her heart flipped with empathy when she saw the wide-eyed, lost and confused look on Peter's face and it occurred to her that he was unenlightened about what was next . . . if anything.

Compassion welled up in her painfully. Sadly, she didn't know any more than Peter did. She had no idea what Davy's perspective was since they hadn't really discussed it, and certainly not to the point to where they were at now. Did Davy want her to have more involvement with Peter? Or is this where it ended? What a mistake to leave out such an essential ingredient; it made her feel quite inhuman.

She had to admit the show they'd given Peter had absolutely floored her, made her realize exhibiting their lovemaking in front of another person had really done it for her. It had cemented her to Davy more than ever. Hitting her orgasm as she knew Peter watched on had been far beyond exhilarating. She'd never known she had exhibitionist tendencies. It was a gift Davy had given to her . . .

But what about Peter? Her heart bled. Saying something to Davy could turn out to be positive or very, very negative. The wording would have to be spot-on. He might think she wanted Peter more than himself. It was extremely delicate, calling for maximal caution.

Peter was mad at himself. Furious, in fact. He was being so dramatic! Here he was, with his best friend, who was also his crush, on a Hawaiian island, and he'd just witnessed an actual, live, untaped and uncensored sex scene that had provided the best masturbation material he'd ever known, and yet he was feeling sorry for himself! How ungrateful was that? Who was he to expect more? He'd better buck up fast and stop lamenting.

A moment later, Davy was urging him over to them again. Being indirect, yet straightforward in the same breath, Davy finessed this situation like he had all the previous ones. He knew just how much pressure to apply, but also how much unfettered indifference to convey to spare Peter unnecessary distress.

Peter had a moment of panic when he reached for Davy's hand, and Davy, after allowing it for a moment, pulled his own hand away. He supposed Davy was trying to get across to him that it was alright if he approached Deanna sexually. But Peter had needed Davy's physical reassurance, and the withdrawal of Davy's hand had buffeted him.

Did Davy know how challenging this was for him? To kiss her mouth and breasts was one thing, but to go beyond those bounds—even the thought of it, paralyzed Peter. Davy had always been number one in his book, almost from the day he'd met him, and Deanna, though he liked her, was an aside. Davy came first. That was a fact that Peter couldn't change even if he'd wanted to. Yes, he ached to touch Deanna, but the ache to touch Davy was an inferno to Deanna's bonfire.

Deanna's fingers snaked through the hair on his chest again, and Peter's skin fluttered under her fingertips. He had to admit he loved the way she touched him with such sensitivity and tenderness. She had a way of luring him, leaving him breathless even if Davy was his numero uno, his champion, and always would be.

He was brought up short with alarm though, because he didn't know what moves to make, let alone _when_ to make them. All he had known before this were the pushy girls that were frustrated because they hadn't been able to get to Davy, and so were in a sort of delirious state when they'd taken over, thus taking the responsibility out of his hands.

But something was curbing her—he sensed this promptly. You couldn't miss it. She was hesitant, leery, as if she didn't feel at ease. He wondered if she were waiting for him to take over. If that was the case, she would be waiting a long time and be sorely disappointed, as he didn't know where to begin. He could kiss her, do what they'd already done, but anything beyond that, and he wouldn't know what was proper and what was not. Davy's example didn't really help him, as she and Davy were already familiar with each other sexually. If he did something she deemed indecent, out of line, or premature, he would surely die . . . just die. Not only from humiliation, but from grief that he'd offended her.

This was not going well, and Peter could see no way out of it. Any way you looked at it, he'd come out a loser, and he would look just the way he was, in reality. A guy who was ignorant about women. Women and lovemaking. How much more unpromising could things get? A willing, sexy woman who was naked and was clearly desirous of him, and all he did was lie there, scared half out of his wits.

Should he just copy what Davy had done? Or was there some unwritten code he didn't know about? The trembling started again, and Deanna saw it.

She would just have to take over. If Davy got upset, she'd work it out with him later. For right now, she had to put Peter's mind at ease. Step up to the plate and help Peter along. Her fingers traced patterns on his chest. That chest was mouth wateringly gorgeous, and she wanted to just stare at it and soak it in.

She put Davy out of her mind for the moment. They'd built Peter up, but his confidence had to be sustained, before he lost it and panicked, which he looked to be edging toward swiftly. She began kissing him, knowing it would help to loosen him up. She'd learned she could cause Peter to lose his hold on reality by kissing him in a sensual way. So she began to attempt to bring him to that dream-like state.

As her lips worked over his, Peter was soon moaning, unaware of anything but Deanna's mouth on his, her tongue swirling around his mouth, sucking his lower lip, hanging onto him as if he were a life raft in stormy seas. His huge, swollen shaft jerked against her belly, and all she could think of was having it inside her. If the enormous thing would even fit!

With a sigh she reached down and wrapped her hand around it. Almost in the same motion, she threw the blanket down to their knees so Davy could see. She didn't want him to be denied that. Then she began to pump her hand slowly and carefully, so as not to make him explode prematurely. The ambiance of such novel excitement filled the tent. She could hear Davy's loud breathing behind her. Okay, so he was either fuming with anger, or overcome with lust at the sight. She would just have to trust that it was lust. He'd encouraged this, so if he hadn't wanted it to go this far, she and Peter could not be blamed. These thoughts were the only thing getting her through all this. And by the way, how had she gotten herself into this in the_ first_ place?

Peter stilled her hand gently with his own. He wasn't going to disgrace himself again. Now what? He couldn't let her continue because he could feel himself building steadily toward that peak. The peak that would bring him mind stunning release.

Deanna's tongue traced figure eights on his neck and down to his shoulder. Weakly, he accepted it, knowing that fighting it would be futile. He had no resistance in him. Her little tongue lashing at his skin drugged him into a boneless state.

Her tongue graduated to his chest, making raspy noises as it brushed against the hair, and Peter shivered with the immense effort he put into remaining compliant and still. It was not knowing what he was supposed to do, or how to act that unnerved him the most.

Deanna took that control away from him, and he found solace in it. This way he could enjoy, and not have to worry about what his next move should be. Her tongue drifted to his sides, moist and seeking. It was the strangest sensation. Almost a tickle, but couldn't be categorized that way because he was so turned on. He did know one thing very well—he didn't want her to stop.

Her tongue licked long stripes up and down both of his sides until he squirmed and a small sound of protest came from his throat. It was all the stimulation he could bear, and more. It was torture overlapped with incredible pleasure.

She began licking a nipple, feeling it harden under her tongue as Peter's chest expanded in a sudden gasp. Triumph. That feeling of power rose in her again. That and excitement that would likely be impossible to tamp down. She didn't want it tamped down though.

Her tongue worked busily until it reached his belly. She felt his body go immediately rigid, his belly muscles taut, and he barely seemed to be breathing.

Peter became overwrought a few seconds later, realizing he'd forgotten to inhale. Still, he was afraid to breathe, or even make the slightest move. She might stop, and God, he didn't want that to happen.

She was going lower, her tongue flicking non-stop. It licked his hip bone, then began moving inward. Peter started to hyperventilate now. From a ceased breath to this—breathing too fast and furious. Trying to drag needed oxygen into his lungs and still trying to survive her explorations that were bringing her ever closer to the bulls eye.

She'd better be sure of what she was doing because he was going to lose his head if she stopped. He'd never had this done to him before, but he'd had endless fantasies about it. Hearing other guys talk about it had made him envious. He had doubts a minute later when she went back to licking his sides again, figuring it was too personal just yet—something that was reserved for Davy, and he understood that, but he just wanted to experience it _so badly._

Being tantalized like this was like being slowly tortured to death. He fended off the urge to thrust with an effort that took nearly everything he had in him. And just when he thought she was just going to continue the agony, he felt the warm moistness of her tongue on him . . . on the head of his dick. He had been keeping his eyes closed, and he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe he was afraid of seeing Davy watching, or of seeing what she was doing, or about to do. Or might _not_ do.

His body fairly lurched at the feel of her teasing tongue, which was sliding into the slit, tickling it, driving him mad with wanting. He made a half choking, half croaking sound. He gripped the sleeping bag under him until his knuckles were stark white. He didn't know how he was going to last this out, not even knowing what her plans were. Was she going to draw it out? Make him beg? He did know one thing, and that was that he couldn't stand her licking for much longer. It was torment all the way through. Sweet, wanton torment. This was far better than he'd imagined all those times he'd pleasured himself, trying to guess what this delicious act would feel like.

But Deanna was only in the beginning stages. Continuing with the licking, her mouth closed on the head, her cheeks hollowing with the suction that followed. Peter howled—there was no way he could have held it back. It shocked and excited Davy and Deanna.

_She could come from this. Just this. If he let her suck him long enough._

His enjoyment made that warm, slippery feeling in her stomach start whipping around madly. His expression of that enjoyment only made her desire soar higher. She began taking him in deeper. His length and girth might have been intimidating to some, but it only turned her on. She knew she could trust Peter, so she let herself go and really relished it—the way he felt in her mouth, the texture of him. Sucking and licking at the same time, swirling her tongue, she threw all her tender and sexual feelings for him into it. Getting the impression he had not undergone this act before, she ensured he would enjoy himself to the absolute maximum. His first experience, and hopefully all the ones following it, would be exceptional.

By the time she started sliding her lips up and down his length, Peter was fighting to keep from thrusting himself deep into her throat.

"Oh God," Davy's quiet voice broke the still air. It only propelled Deanna to delight in Peter ever more openly and lavishly, knowing she was also pleasing Davy. Faster and faster her head bobbed as her hand slipped between Peter's spread legs to fondle his balls.

It was too much. Peter could not endure this any longer. He had to come. His vocalizing intensified, and she knew he was very near. Her senses were all on alert, waiting to see what his ultimate gratification would be like, and how he would express it.

His orgasm rushed at him headlong like a runaway train, and Peter tried to warn her, but didn't know exactly how to.

"Deanna," he choked out, not able to get any more words past his lips.

She moaned in answer, trying to communicate to him that she understood the impact of what would come about very soon. And that she was ardent for it. The vibration of her moan only boosted Peter's libido to the point of making his imminent climax an absolute guarantee.

And then as he came, he thrashed, his hips rolling, bucking, completely helpless, having no control. His squirts were very forceful, and he grunted amidst all his groans and sighs. Deanna also moaned with every squirt, taking it all with zest. It escalated Peter's pleasure almost past the point of being able to tolerate any more stimulation. He reached down to stop her movements as he at last completed his series of high powered jets of semen into her mouth. It seemed as if he had spurted a dozen times to Deanna, although she knew it couldn't have been that many. She was so close to coming herself . . .

Peter basked in her long, slow licks as her tongue cleaned him. It was almost too much for his hyper sensitivity, yet it was still stimulating on a lower level. He laid flat out, the most satisfied he ever remembered feeling. Completely satiated.

As Deanna rose to her knees to sit up, she felt a cold finger of disquiet skate up her spine. Davy. How would he be feeling? It was one thing to be turned on by watching her kiss Peter, but . . . what she'd just done? Different ballgame altogether, and thus could extract a totally different reaction from Davy. But what kind of reaction? Enraged jealousy? That thought was what made her blood feel a little icy.

After only a glance at Davy though, she had a clear answer. He was wearing his drugged look, which meant he was aroused. He moved very slowly and deliberately, a little like a stalking panther, high on the thrill of the chase.

"C'mere, luv," he said, that silky quality slipping off his tongue like greased satin. Along with his accent, it sounded sensual beyond belief. He guided her over Peter's body, then lifted her and sat her down on his cock in a fluid movement, short, quick movements of his hips indicating he was more than ready for her again. After what he'd seen, he was ravenous. The friction as he plunged in and out of her was delicious, and the air whooshed out of her lungs as she leaned forward to kiss him.

In his lusty fog, he was thinking of what she'd just done with Peter, yet forgetting certain details, and the surprise that registered on his face when he detected the taste of Peter's climax in her mouth caused him to move his mouth away, making Deanna realize how hard it was for him to digest the reality. She didn't try to kiss him again because it was absolutely too much, too soon. To expect him to show no reaction to something like that was plainly out of the question right now.

It didn't slow him down for long though. His hands clutched at her butt, guiding her up and down on his shaft. He was so overboard in his desire that he thrust harder than he ever had before, ripping a groan from Deanna as she wriggled around on him, circling her hips, teasing him by lifting her pelvis higher and higher until he was almost out, just the tip of him remaining inside her, and then letting herself slip all the way down to the base of his hardness as he became a gasping mess.

He threw his head back, loving it, wanting more and more until there was nothing left but a massive, crazy orgasm on the horizon. Davy was anything but graceful as he came. He allowed her body to coax and tease him to that peak of pleasure that he'd been craving since he'd seen her go down on Peter. He was out of sync with her body, thrusting blindly, straining, grunting. He was all over the place, near desperation gripping him until he reached the pinnacle, and then allowed her to keep pumping at him with her body as he spilled his seed inside her with a grunt and muffled shout.

It was the most fulfilling sex he'd had with Deanna since they'd been together. And he knew why, although he hesitated to admit it, even to himself, but Peter played a part in it. No doubt about that.

Deanna rolled off him and dropped down between them, everyone quenched. Deanna smiled to see Peter's cock was rigid as ever, but Peter just shrugged and said, "It's that way a lot of the time."

"I think we're going to see a lot more of that in the days to come," commented Davy lazily, referring to Peter's state of arousal. "He seems to go around with a hard-on more often than he doesn't."

"Well, now I have_ two_ reasons," explained Peter, and this caused Davy to blush, knowing Peter was referring to himself and Deanna. It also reminded him of the Pad and how many times he had noticed the bulge in Peter's pants when they were alone together in their bedroom. And on the couch. And the stage.

Yes, it was true Peter had the major hots for Davy. And now he'd be sporting erections double-time. But Peter could handle it. He was naturally a very sexual person. Davy knew this, but wasn't quite sure how. Aside from the erections, that was. Maybe it was the vibe Peter threw out. Even though he and Peter had never done anything sexual with each other, the bassist had always had that certain dreamy, sensual quality to him that left no doubt in Davy's mind about Peter's place in his own little romantic world. Davy had long suspected Peter also had some incredible capabilities that were going untapped.

"Foreplay, babe," Davy's voice broke the silence. "It's where it's at."

Peter turned a curious face to Davy, making the heat rise in Davy's cheeks.

"Did I not do something right?" Peter's heart hammered at the thought that he probably should have built things up. It really hadn't been possible though, as Deanna had put her heart and soul into his body before he'd barely even had a chance to think about it.

"No, you're fine. Just remember to keep up the charm, because this lady of ours, Deanna, melts for foreplay. Foreplay that lasts _all day long_."

Peter remembered how the three of them had flirted, and he got Davy's hint. That should continue. It was a good thing.

Peter had the most gargantuan urge to touch Davy, but he resisted. The way Davy had pulled his hand away earlier—he didn't know if Davy would be accepting of it. He knew he shouldn't push things anyway. They'd come a long way tonight. It was an exquisite beginning. He shouldn't expect too much. Peter had been overcome with pleasure—it was more than he had ever dared to hope it would be. His own hands had never brought him a fraction of the pleasure.

They got up briefly to have a snack to replenish their sated bodies, then went back to bed, talked for a while about considerably lighter subjects than what was on all their minds, curled up against each other and called it a night.

* * *

The next morning, they made love again. Peter was keen and willing, and that was to put it mildly. But Davy was silently insisting Peter take this leisurely, in a sedate manner. His eyes, intent on Peter's, made sure no doubts remained in Peter's mind that Deanna would be in the driver's seat. He didn't want them starting off on the wrong foot and making her ill at ease. But Peter didn't disappoint him for a moment, understanding that this wasn't just about sex. Peter's innate temperament made it natural for him to defer to Deanna anyway.

Like writhing snakes, Peter and Davy made Deanna scream with the strength of her orgasms. Davy didn't do much more except kiss her and massage, suck and roll her nipples, letting Peter take the opportunity to learn to be unreserved with her. After all, Davy had had free access to her for some time.

Peter had remembered what he'd seen in the tent last night, and he went down on Deanna for the first time. He was so aroused he was a little bit afraid he'd end up over the moon with delirium. He was clumsy at first, and it took tremendous courage, but by the time ten minutes had passed, he'd learned what felt best to her, how much pressure to apply with his tongue, how much suction, when she liked his tongue inserted, and had found that little nub that brought her so much pleasure. He was so grateful to Davy for that silent lesson last night. He'd gone on to give her two orgasms that way. He was nothing short of inflated with pride.

Davy marveled at Peter's technique as he watched on. He was a very fast learner. Deanna, so excited and a little out of her mind, bordered on scratching and clawing Peter afterward in an effort to get him to enter her. But the first time he did, Deanna almost opted out. She nearly pulled the plug on everything. He had such length and girth that her skeptical side threatened to take over. Davy had told her she was tighter than most, and at first, particularly with Peter's over-eager attitude that he had trouble quelling, a little fear actually dribbled into her thoughts. But Peter was learning how to govern himself, as difficult as it was for him.

With Davy's quiet coaching, Peter managed to keep from thrusting and grinding into her ruthlessly. Soon her body adjusted, and surrounded him like a cocoon, and Peter was finally able to bury himself to the hilt, although it took some patience—something he was sorely short on. He would learn self-discipline in time, as he grew more familiar with Deanna. Davy had the ultimate confidence in that.

The warmth, the moistness, the tightness, the contracting walls of the inside of her stimulated Peter endlessly. Peter had to be told when enough was enough. He was so ravenous that he could have made love to Deanna all day, but she explained to him gently and quietly, after he'd come twice, that she'd had enough stretching for a while, and that any more would make her sore.

A little later, when Deanna was recovering from her most fulfilling mini love fest with Peter, Davy announced some news that Deanna didn't want to hear.

"We only have a few more days left here," he said to her, his face solemn. She'd known their time to go back to Malibu was drawing near, but she hadn't dared ask, and she hadn't kept track of the days on purpose—so she wouldn't have to think about it. Or dwell on it.

Seeing the downcast, doleful look on her face, he said, "That's all I'll tell you. Let me know when you want to know when it's time."

"On the morning we leave," she said. "That way, I won't have time to dread it."

Fair enough. They still had a little time for more adventures. Davy was only too aware of that, and it made his stomach fluttery. He saw the connection growing between Peter and his girlfriend right in front of him. They both had a dazed look that carried more than mere lust. A lot more. But Deanna still looked at him in the same way too, and that was comforting. She poured just as much affection on him as she always had. She still told him she loved him, even in front of Peter. So once again, he felt reassured, and yes, secure. It was just that it was all happening so fast . . .

* * *

Peter and Davy worked on Peter's fish trap again that day, all three of them craving fish for dinner again, and Peter tried to make playful, flirty physical contact with Davy a few times, like they had always done at the Pad. For years . . . for years they had done it. But Davy was oddly distant; Peter had never encountered this in him before, and he saw that Davy almost quaked with what looked like real fear. Peter couldn't understand why Davy had always allowed his friend to touch him before, yet now that the three of them should have been closer than ever, Davy was subtly avoiding him. Something had shifted.

Peter puzzled over it for a while, and then decided to just give it time. Davy was actively sharing his girl with Peter—it just might be overload for him to respond to Peter just yet. It was difficult for Peter to wait though. Davy had admitted how he felt about him, and to be standoffish when Peter wanted to touch him was like dangling an ever retreating cookie in front of a child.

Before the day was over, something profound happened. Davy had a meltdown, nervous breakdown-however you wanted to label it. Peter hadn't been able to control himself, and had let his hand linger on Davy's arm one time too many. Davy turned to Peter, brown eyes blazing. Yet he didn't say anything. Davy didn't want Deanna to see or hear what was transpiring, so he waited until Deanna was concentrating on preparing their dinner to escort Peter to the other tent, and then pushed him inside none too gently.

Davy's expression was shuttered, and that really concerned Peter. When Davy's expression closed like that, Peter knew it would be a hard task to get through to him. That temper was always lurking somewhere nearby, ready to spring into action if provoked.

"You've been touching me and getting close three or four times too much today," Davy said, his jaw set-tense and steely.

"I'm not acting any different than I ever do," Peter was clearly flustered.

"You know what I'm talking about, Peter."

No, Peter _didn't _know. As he'd just intimated, his behavior around Davy was not patently different.

Peter reminded himself inwardly that he had decided to give it a break. Yet he hadn't followed his own advice. He'd gone ahead and tried touching Davy again. Impatience had won out. He knew he was being unreasonable for questioning his friend's behavior. There was a good reason for it. All this between the three of them was still brand new. The memory that touching Davy had always been alright before, even natural feeling, was getting to him –he was letting it rule him. And even though it had never led to anything, Peter was hurt more than he feared Davy's anger.

"Why the change in you?" he asked Davy quietly, so Deanna wouldn't hear.

Davy didn't pretend not to understand. "Damn it Pete, _I'm not gay_!" Davy ground it out and tried to shove Peter to the side to leave the tent, but Peter stood in his way. And his stance remained rock solid. Davy tried again, becoming impetuous now. He was surprised by how strong Peter actually was when he put his mind to it.

"I don't want to hit you, Pete," he warned, his flashing eyes backing his statement up.

"You're gonna talk to me," said Peter in a tone Davy had rarely heard from his friend before. It was firm and unyielding."You're gonna quit running away."

Disgruntled, but no longer quite as angry, Davy flopped to the ground. Things were working out beautifully with them sharing Deanna. But between the two of them, things weren't quite that simple. Real life rarely is.

"Why do you act scared for me to touch you all of a sudden?" asked Peter.

"I bloody already told you! Do I have to reiterate? _I'm not a fuckin' fag!"_

"I never called you gay."

"You don't fuckin' have to!" snapped Davy, his eyes flaming and shooting sparks.

Peter knew he had to find a balance. Davy was a good fighter, and Peter was fully aware he could find himself with a real shiner or maybe even a broken nose if this kept this up. Davy had never been anywhere near this angry with him.

"You're so bloody determined. You always have been. I've put up with it for years, but this is where I draw the line. You're gonna quit flirting with me as if I was a girl!" Davy's voice was clipped and hoarse.

_Put up with it? Had Davy really only been putting up with it?_

The hurt at hearing these words crushed Peter's chest as if someone were stepping on it. All this time . . . all this time he'd thought Davy had enjoyed their closeness as much as he himself had. And to think that Davy had only been tolerating it for all this time caused a painful lump to form in Peter's throat.

"You've been humoring me all this time?" he asked, even as he knew it couldn't be true.

"Call it whatever you want. But I'm _straight!"_ Davy looked madder than a hornet, but Peter feared the possibility of Davy's lack of feelings for him considerably more.

Sure, the idea of sharing Deanna and letting Deanna enjoy their attentions was captivating and exciting. It opened up a new world to Peter that he'd never dreamed of actually encountering in his life. But it wasn't worth it if this kind of thing was going to happen. If people were going to end up being hurt.

One other fact remained that Peter could not ignore. He didn't mind sharing Davy, but in his mind,_ Davy was his._ It dawned on him that it was deep-seated and already well-established in his mind. For the first time, Peter fully comprehended the essence of their relationship. He'd loved Davy for a long time, but this was like a very profound awakening. By God, he was afraid he was _in love_ with Davy.

They looked up at the same time to see Deanna in the opening of the tent, and they realized their voices, or at least Davy's voice, had been raised.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes tracking from one to the other.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Is dinner ready?" Davy asked her brusquely, his cheeks suspiciously splotched with deep pink. She nodded. He brushed past her as he left the tent, stalking away and leaving her and Peter alone.

"What happened, Peter? I heard angry voices."

Peter wasn't about to lie to her. "David isn't acting like he used to. He's tense around me. I'll let him tell you why. I'm not sure what's going on, but he's upset with me for some reason. That's all I can say."

Peter was now pretty sure Davy was feeling threatened. And Deanna might be able to handle them sharing her, but how would she feel if she knew Peter was in love with Davy? It seemed to Peter that he was coming between them, and Peter could not let that happen.

Peter and Deanna made their way back to the other tent and the three of them ate their fish dinner. Everyone was silent. Peter tried to fire up conversation a few times and so did Deanna, but Davy would not budge. His mouth was used only for eating, and conversation was abruptly rejected with monosyllables, and then only if he were asked a direct question. That was when Peter knew there was only one way to fix this. He had to leave . . .


	27. Chapter 27

Davy looked remote, unapproachable as they sat and ate. So much so that Peter decided he'd better leave the first chance he got. The longer he stayed, the more he would screw up Davy and Deanna's relationship.

It wasn't dark yet, and wouldn't be for an hour or more. Davy was planning on getting more firewood after dinner—he'd mentioned it earlier that day. If Deanna went with him, it would be the perfect time to leave. He already knew what he'd do. Of course he couldn't leave the island, but he could surely find another spot to camp. The island was twenty something miles long, Davy had said. He should be able to find enough cover to where they wouldn't find him. He'd grab his sleeping bag and just a little bit of food to get him by until he could catch more fish. He could sleep in the open tonight, and build a shelter tomorrow. It didn't look like rain would be coming in.

For now, there was just no way Peter could continue on like this. Davy with Deanna, Peter with Deanna. Peter had come to the realization that he had to have interaction with Davy too. He needed Davy's love. Otherwise, he would be yearning for him every time he made love to Deanna. He could come up with no solution, and it would be too easy to slip up and put his hands on his handsome friend.

There were lots of trees to hide in, which was ideal for sufficient cover if one didn't want to be discovered. It didn't need to be for an extended length of time. They didn't have that much time left here anyway. Mostly, he needed just enough time to be away by himself to think this through. Just a couple of days.

Peter saw his mistake only too clearly. He should have been gradual about it. It was the worst thing he could have done by pestering Davy the way he evidently had. He'd tried to move too fast. He'd gone and insulted Davy's masculinity. It was obvious, and Davy had practically said it out loud. Now Peter didn't know how to patch things up and somehow get Davy to realize that he, Peter, was there for the taking if only Davy would open his mind enough, and listen to his heart, because Peter _knew_ that, on some level, Davy was aware. Davy just wasn't listening.

* * *

Peter settled in after it had been dark for a while. He'd had to be quick. He'd taken his suitcase, overnight bag with his toiletries, a few cans of food, matches, a knife and a half gallon juice container that had been finished and thrown in the trash. He'd washed it out and filled it with fresh water and hoped it would last until, hopefully, he would find a supply on the island. He'd wrapped all this up in his sleeping bag, and dragged it behind him, keeping to shadow, bushes and thick tree cover, ending up about two miles away from where Davy and Deanna were. He hoped it was far enough away.

The best thing about it was the fact that he was deep in the trees, well covered, and he doubted Davy could find him anytime soon because he'd found quite a tight spot with dense trees all around him for at least fifty yards in every direction. The opening where he laid down his sleeping bag was only about five feet by six feet. Now . . . as long as it didn't rain.

He spent quite a while picking leaves, sand and debris off his sleeping bag, and by then it was so dark that he had no choice but to dive into his sleeping bag and try to go to sleep, even though it was still early compared to when he usually went to sleep. It was so dark though—he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He hadn't counted on this. He had to admit to himself that it was spooky, even though he knew there were no dangerous animals on the island. Every slight noise had his full attention.

First thing in the morning he'd search for fresh water. Fortunately he and Davy had talked about how it could be achieved, the boy scouts training again offering deliverance, and he hoped his plan would work.

* * *

"Davy, Peter's gone!" Deanna's alarmed voice gave Davy instant chills.

"What? Gone? What do you mean?"

"His sleeping bag, his suitcase—they're gone, along with Peter."

"Son of a bitch," Davy muttered to himself. "It's my fault." Panic started to build. It was dark out there, and who knew where Peter had ended up? Peter had not been around when they'd come back with the firewood, and they had just assumed he'd gone for a walk along the beach or something. Davy and Deanna had gone for a short swim later, hoping Peter would join them when he returned. He hadn't, and they finished their swim, Deanna reaching the tent first, and finding it empty.

Now it was too late, too dark to search. Davy knew Peter wasn't as versed in island survival as he was, although Davy had discussed it to some degree with him. He just hoped Peter would remember some of it until they could find him . . . And Davy planned on looking for him non-stop until they did find him. All they could do tonight was hope Peter was safe. Damn it! This was all his fault. If he hadn't been so cold to Peter, the blonde wouldn't have resorted to leaving. Davy knew now that Peter thought he was intruding, and that tore Davy apart.

Thoughts churned continually in Peter's head. He hoped Davy and Deanna remembered to bring the tortoise into the tent. What a stupid thing to think of at a time like this! Worried about a tortoise when he was in a dense, spooky, ominous forest of trees where he couldn't see a thing but inky blackness.

He felt like crying. He had ruined his friends' vacation. Davy had wanted to be with Deanna, not having Peter hanging all over him. He could see his blunders clearly now that he was out here alone. Any couple would be annoyed with him. His behavior had been lacking taste. He'd been thinking only of himself and his own needs. No wonder Davy had been aloof. He had every right.

* * *

Davy carefully carried the tortoise inside, fighting back the tears that stung the back of his eyeballs. He tossed a towel over the animal and turned to Deanna.

"Don't feel responsible," she said, seeing how red his eyes were, and how he kept swallowing convulsively.

"How can I not? I almost acted as if I disdained him." Davy had told Deanna what had transpired between himself and Peter. He'd had to—she had to know the story to understand completely why Peter had disappeared.

"_I'm not gay, but he wants me to be. He wants us both to be with you, but he also wants me."_

Davy had struggled with not being ashamed or embarrassed when he'd brought the subject up.

"You can have a good long talk with him after we find him," she had replied. She had decided, wisely, not to say any more. Davy's emotions were already teetering on the edge of shattering.

Davy was snapped back to the present by Deanna's cry.

"Fresh water!" she gasped. "He has no fresh water!"

"Yes he does. A small amount. He must have put some in a container because there's about half a gallon missing. He won't run out by the time we find him," Davy said this to try to reassure himself as much as Deanna. This island had a lot of trees where Peter could hide, and trees meant there was fresh water somewhere. Davy also saw that Peter had taken a few matches, so with any luck, they would see the smoke from his fire if they stood at the water line and scanned all the trees. They couldn't do it tonight, but tomorrow night at dusk, when Peter was most likely to build a fire, they just might get lucky and spot his approximate hiding place from the smoke, and then he would scout in that direction first thing in the morning.

Deanna's tears were already streaming, and Davy enclosed her in his arms. "We'll find him. No way can he hide from me for long. I'm relentless," and he smiled at Deanna, hoping he was being convincing enough.

"I'll look for smoke in the morning too," she offered. "There's a little bit of coffee missing. So he might make a fire in the morning to heat water."

"Good idea."

Davy and Deanna spent most of the night doing everything but sleeping. They tossed, turned, getting up to look out of the tent flap in anticipation of Peter's return countless times. But it didn't happen. Neither could even fathom making love. They held each other, but they were both deeply troubled. By first light, Deanna was outside, scouring what she could see of the island from the shore line, squinting her eyes, straining to see smoke. She had no luck.

Davy, meanwhile, after collecting more firewood, in the case he would be too tired for the task when he got back, told her to stay at the tent in case Peter returned, and he would go search for him. He warned her he'd probably be gone for most of the day, and by now, she knew about Davy's single-mindedness, and she respected that, knowing also of Davy's deep affection for Peter. He was worried—more worried than he would ever admit to her. He was openly sidetracked, blindly distracted, and she felt nothing but commiseration for him.

Immediately after breakfast, he left, carrying snacks and water and a few other essentials in a plastic bag. He left the gun with her, making sure she knew how to use it. He showed her how to aim it, but didn't have time to have her practice firing it, and that weighed on his conscience, but he made certain she knew how to hold it, cock it, and knew where the trigger was. It was better than nothing, and he stressed that if someone came at her with obvious evil intent, that she was to shoot without hesitation, lest the gun be taken from her and used against her. She was also to shoot a single shot to let Davy know if Peter returned.

With reluctance, he set out, knowing there was way too much area for a single man to cover, but hoping he just might get a little Heaven-sent help.

* * *

Peter had traveled about two hundred feet back from the shore, amongst the trees, where he planned to dig. There had to be fresh water here, or there wouldn't be all these trees. If he dug deep enough, he'd find it. He had to remember to remain hidden too, because he knew Davy would be on the hunt, and not much would escape the Brit.

Peter had taken the precaution of walking to the shoreline when he'd left, so as to try to eliminate his tracks, walking where the three of them had walked several times to swim, shedding their sandals before swimming. But if Davy were any kind of a tracker, he'd see where Peter had walked back onto the sand about a mile later, then into the trees.

The trees were thick, and Peter made noise crunching the leaves with his sandals, so if Davy were to be nearby, there was no way he wouldn't hear him. But Peter didn't know how to achieve silence the way an Indian did. When he figured he'd gone far enough, Peter began to dig. How he wished he had a shovel! All he had was various sticks he had collected. He didn't want to use his knife, as he didn't want to dull the blade.

The digging was not easy with only sticks at his disposal, but aside from some rocks, the sand was soft. He dug for nearly half an hour when he saw a trickle of water. He almost whooped for joy. He felt pride in this accomplishment. He sniffed it. Didn't smell salty. Even though there were quite a few rocks around, which usually filter water so it would be safe to drink, he decided to boil it anyway. No way was he going to take a chance of getting deathly ill out here alone.

He soon had a sizable hole with a pool of water, and he spent a good part of the day moving his tent closer to the water source, then hollowed out a coconut shell and scooped up some of the water from the hole and started a fire to boil it. The hardest part had been finding the coconut, and then smashing it on only one side so he could use the other, intact side of it as a bowl.

It was fresh water alright. It also tasted great. He had boiled it for a full ten minutes to be sure any trace of potentially harmful bacteria would be gone. Then he spent the remainder of the day making a makeshift shelter. He wished he'd been able to bring his tent, but that would have been much more likely to get the attention of his friends when he'd left. It was bad enough that he'd had to grab his sleeping bag, overnight bag and suitcase, but as far as he knew, they hadn't seen him.

The shelter was composed of whatever he could find. Mainly branches, sticks and a thick layer of banana leaves for the roof. That took more time than anything. It had a battered appearance, but at least now, if it rained, he'd have some degree of protection.

* * *

She saw Davy's figure at a distance, walking toward her. His dejected manner, his slow pace, plus the absence of Peter, told her he'd not been successful. He walked almost like an elderly man, not the robust young man he was.

It was almost dusk, and she had warmed up some canned macaroni and cheese, and along with some bread, and they forced it down.

"No sign of him, but I didn't expect it. There are too many trees on this island, Deanna. I didn't see any smoke either, but there are too many miles to cover. I was a little too full of myself this morning about finding him. We'd need a damn search party," Davy laid his head on her lap, emitting a deep, disconsolate sigh. The atmosphere was heavy and gloomy.

"I watched for smoke too. But like you said, you can't walk the entire island, and through all the trees in one day. It would take you weeks, and he could be moving too. Davy, do you think he'll come back?"

Davy sighed, and played with the idea of lying to her so she wouldn't worry so much, but decided the truth was imperative.

"I don't know, but I can't see him staying gone for long. You know by now how sensitive Peter is. How could he feel like we don't want him? Wait, I already know. My shitty attitude because I felt like my sexuality was endangered. Kapena is due tomorrow. We can ask him if he has any advice on how to find him."

It was small consolation, but it was something. Something for the two of them to grab onto, to avoid being swept away and deposited into desolation.

Deanna grabbed a package of Kool Aid and added it to water in paper cups, stirred with a plastic spoon, and they drank it in silence.

With a fierce ache, Deanna wanted to ask Davy if he had the same feelings for Peter as Peter so openly had for him. But in the same breath, she knew that Davy, himself, probably didn't know. He needed to find himself, and he had to do it without her help. It was something she couldn't assist him with, as much as she wanted to.

"I have to find him soon," Davy confided to her that evening. "We don't have much longer on the island, and no way will I leave him here when we go back."

"I know. We'll find him." It wasn't much, but it was all Deanna could find to say.

* * *

He'd forgotten his comb. It had probably fallen out of his pants pocket in the tent. Well, it could be worse. He could be without food, or even worse than that, water. He bathed with the fresh water from the hole he'd dug and rinsed his hair. He didn't want to shampoo it because some of the soap might remain in the underground water. They'd had two can openers, thank God, so he'd taken one when he left, so he could open the few cans he'd also taken. He'd left plenty for Deanna and Davy, but knew he didn't have enough, and would also have to fish for himself.

Was Kapena due tomorrow? He wasn't even sure. He didn't remember if the local had come yesterday morning. Wouldn't help him anyway, as he couldn't go out in the open. So he would have to live on any sea life he could catch. The future didn't really enter his mind at this point. He knew he'd have to ride with Davy and Deanna back with Kapena when the day came, or he'd be stuck here for God knew how long, but until then, he'd give his friends their privacy. He _hoped_ they were still his friends.

A big concern was he would have to venture to the water's edge to set his fish traps, and he knew he'd be vulnerable as far as being seen, but nothing could be done for it. It was either that or go hungry.

Davy spent most of the day thinking, and Deanna found other things to do while Davy, who seemed introspective and pensive, but was in actuality, analyzing things, stayed in the tent. So Deanna went to the other tent, Peter's tent, and read a few chapters of her book, knowing Davy needed to sort things out in his mind, but found herself looking up every couple of minutes to see if she might spy Peter traveling toward them.

Davy let the flashbacks of the last few years trickle through his mind, and the thoughts soon unfiltered themselves and flowed freely. Peter's dimpled smile was the most dominant image. Peter always got animated when he was excited about something, whether it be a pizza delivery or a good movie. Sometimes he even jumped up and down, his thick hair bouncing against his head and into his eyes. His combination crazy/evil/silly laugh also haunted Davy. It was enchanting. Davy forbade his thoughts to go further, but they did anyway. He had always wondered why he considered Peter to be cute when he'd never seen another guy he would ever give that label to. Standing next to Micky or Mike was always serious, down-to-business, usually having to do with music. The discussion was involved and focused, but standing next to Peter was a distraction.

Singing was something Davy did with abandon, and was second nature to him, and thank God for that, because Peter could have easily left him speechless and unable to utter a single note. It was all he could do to keep the beat with his tambourine and maracas, but that was reflexive too, so he found he could function pretty well even with Peter beside him when performing. And that was good, because that was where he wanted to be. Being beside Peter and making music.

After hours of thought, Davy finally owned the fact that it _wasn't _the music that stole his breath on frequent occasions. It was Peter. Peter was an important component to his happiness, making his heart feel light and causing him to want to put on his dancing shoes and celebrate. Peter's whole life was a celebration, and he wanted to share it with Davy. And now what had he gone and done? Rejected Peter.

By the time Davy came out of the tent, Deanna was fixing them sandwiches for a late lunch. Davy realized he'd been thinking for the last seven hours. Since right after breakfast. It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and he hadn't even gone out to look for Peter.

He'd had to get things unscrambled and straightened out in his head, confess to himself what he'd been denying for years. The tingling, the accelerated breath he'd experienced, the hammering heart . . . why hadn't he seen it before?

It was more than the playful way that he had referred to it when he and Peter had talked about it. It ran far deeper than that. Did Deanna know? She hadn't asked questions, which made him suspect she might very well know, but was waiting for him to broach the subject.

Should he talk to her? Tell her how he really felt about Peter? But he couldn't, because_ he_ didn't even know how he felt. How can you explain something to someone without being able to form the words, even to yourself? Deanna hadn't been there all those hundreds of days and nights he'd spent with Peter. All the laughter, the partying, the many times they stayed up all night having lively discussions about what it meant to be alive, in a band, forming words into songs and setting music to it. Their passion . . . Could she even begin to understand it? Know what it meant to them? And how it drew them ever closer?

And, if he did feel something for Peter that was more than friendship, which he wasn't even convinced of yet, what exactly was it? Harmless affection for a fellow band member, roommate and best friend? Getting those good vibrations from their music? Or was it something far more complicated? It wasn't all about lust—he knew that much. Lust is just that—_lust._ It isn't love, and it usually isn't about anything long-term. Lust is a strictly in-the-moment kind of deal. Getting a need met. Getting your rocks off. No, this ran deeper, richer than that.

And if, no . . . _when _he found Peter, he was going to talk him in a frank, upfront kind of way. He had to, or Peter would go on thinking Davy was shunning him. Davy made a promise to himself that no matter how unsettled it made him feel, he would be as honest as he possibly could with Peter. Tell him everything—all of his feelings. There was no other way around this. He'd have to just dive in and let the words come from his mouth as the thoughts hit his stream of consciousness.

After eating fitfully, not really tasting the food on his tongue, Davy turned to Deanna.

"I never knew this myself before, but after thinking all day . . . and ignoring you, which I'm so sorry for . . . I see that I feel strongly for Peter. I don't know what it is, but I do have to find out."

Deanna was already eagerly nodding her head, as if she'd been hoping he would say something like that. It occurred to him that she had been purposely silent about it, letting him come to his own conclusions.

"I love you all the more for sitting by and understanding," he said. There was so much more he wanted to say, but words failed him. Instead, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly, hoping she would absorb the depth of his feelings for her.

Right after lunch he set out again in search of Peter.

* * *

Peter remained in the trees, afraid to venture out of them simply because he knew how stubborn Davy was. The guy was not known for giving up on anything. How long was he going to stay like this? Just sitting around, thinking, missing Davy and Deanna, knowing his food would run out by tomorrow?

He'd have to fish tomorrow. Go out into the open. He'd travel farther yet away from Davy and Deanna to take care of that task and just hope he wasn't spotted.

That night, the three of them slept for short durations, all having strange, disturbing dreams. Davy was never so glad to see the sun coming up. He'd get an early start today and keep looking until dark.

Around the same time, Peter decided to set the fish traps and hope he caught something by late afternoon. He hadn't started a fire except to boil water, putting it out right afterward, for fear Davy and Deanna would see the smoke, but he knew he would have to now, in order to cook the fish.

So there he was—setting a fish trap, only having been at the shore for about fifteen minutes, when Davy got lucky, and about three miles from the tent he shared with Deanna, he saw Peter in the distance.

His limbs tingled right on cue, he felt faint, his pulse raced. He'd really lucked out and had found Peter exactly when Peter had decided to set traps! The relief was so overwhelming that he felt like his legs might give out. He walked to within fifty yards before Peter saw him.

Davy saw how Peter's hair was uncharacteristically messed up and sticking out every which way. Had Peter reverted to a wild, untamed savage in two days? The thought made Davy smile. Hardly. Peter was anything but primitive or undomesticated. Yet, at the same time, Peter seemed to be looking after himself pretty well. Already trying to catch food. Davy's heart swelled.

Davy reminded himself firmly that he'd have to meet this problem head on, directly. If he wasn't completely candid with Peter, he wouldn't be able to get Peter to go back with him. That meant telling Peter his true, barefaced feelings. And that was going to go against everything Davy had ever striven for. Davy was a lady's man, and his reputation was on the line. However, in the same breath, that was frivolous and shallow. Peter was far more important than that.

Peter thought about taking flight when he saw Davy. But what good would it do? Davy would catch him in less than a minute—he already knew that. Davy was a sprinter, and he also had endurance. Peter knew he didn't stand a chance, so he didn't even purport any intention of getting away. He just stood and waited . . .

"Hey man . . . good to see you," Davy knew that sounded lame, but how many other greetings could you come up with in a situation such as this?

Peter didn't answer, although Davy didn't expect him to.

"Where's your tent, babe?"

"Back there, in the trees," Peter pointed over his shoulder, keenly watching Davy's every move.

"Nice hair-do. Here's your comb, by the way," and Davy handed Peter his comb. "It was in the tent, on the floor. We can talk either there or here," Davy left no room for argument. A typical Mike tactic, and Davy used it well. Whether you were 5'3" or 6'1" didn't make all that much difference. It was the attitude and energy you put forth. People tended to go along with him when he presented his authoritative air, and so he milked it right now, purposely. He knew he'd have to be staunch and unyielding if he were to get Peter to agree to come back. Act like he had some clout. And since Peter had always happily afforded him the privilege, he had the advantage. Or at least he hoped he did.

Peter busily began combing his hair, and then Davy helped him complete setting the traps, and then they trudged through the sand, all the way back to Peter's camp site.

"Far out, you found fresh water," commented Davy as he examined Peter's water hole. "And made a shelter too." He slapped Peter on the back, making the humble Peter feel gratified.

"It was the best I could do for the moment—just In case it rains."

"Good job."

They sat on Peter's sleeping bag.

"Hey, babe." Davy cleared his throat, scraping up his courage. He spewed his thoughts before his nerve gave out. "I'm sorry about the things I said before you left. And even sorrier you left."

"You made yourself pretty clear," was Peter's rather glum response.

"Pete, I felt . . . well, like less of a man, I guess." Davy wondered if Peter knew how hard it was for him to say that. How it chipped away at his pride.

"So did you mean what you said? That you don't want the kind of relationship we've had anymore?" Peter's eyes were killing Davy with their doe-like gentleness, their quest for understanding.

"No, of course I didn't. I liked our . . . closeness." This being completely honest was really putting Davy to the test. But he'd made the promise to himself, and, more importantly, Peter needed to hear the truth. He'd been an ass, and Peter hadn't done anything to deserve it.

Davy's hand settled on Peter's upper back.

Just a touch. Just a simple touch was all it was, and yet it sent ripples of desire right through Peter. Davy's effect on him was powerful. So powerful that Peter was afraid to even look Davy in the eyes. His feelings ran that deep. They burrowed endlessly like the roots of all these trees.

"I was starting to doubt my manhood," Davy blurted out.

Peter looked at him expectantly, wanting to know the rest of it.

_Damn him._ _He knows I want to say more._ So he pushed ahead.

"But I can't go on like there isn't something there forever, now can I?" Davy shocked himself even as the words hit his tongue.

Davy hoped Peter understood his rather cryptic message. But speaking plainly was difficult.

Peter couldn't help but feel his heart lift. With hope. "Like you said, it's not just the music," Peter actually met Davy's eyes this time to see if Davy's thoughts might by some miracle match his. Peter's hand found Davy's back, but he didn't just rest it there—he rubbed lightly. He tried to gauge Davy's reaction. He couldn't. Davy looked reserved, yet there was a fiery glint in his eye.

In those unguarded moments in the past, Peter had seen a glimmer of something that eclipsed affection many times. He now realized Davy had been lying to himself. Denying it. Even as his eyes had told the whole truth. Even so, Peter could not allow himself to get hopeful. If he did, he most surely would die if Davy did not return the sentiment.

In the past, Peter had even dared to hope that someday Davy might love him as he loved Davy. But when they'd had their confrontation before Peter had left, Davy had built a fence, and Peter needed to find the gate. He just had to figure out the combination to the lock that was on that gate. It seemed that now he was getting closer . . .

"What are Deanna's thoughts?" Peter knew he was asking a lot. Davy would be perfectly justified in not answering if he so chose.

"She might not have said it in so many words, but I know she wants us to talk—and make things crystal clear- no bones about it. She sees how we're pulling apart, and she doesn't like it. She prefers everything to be aboveboard."

Well, that was a mouthful. Peter felt like he'd sputter and stammer if he even tried to talk. He didn't know how to take it. It seemed vague to him.

Davy turned his head at the sound of a colorful bird in a nearby tree, and the sun hit his brilliant chestnut hair. His profile . . . Peter dwelled on how perfect it was for the few seconds Davy looked away, how much beauty Davy possessed not only superficially, but especially in his heart, his soul. He was a good guy. The best. Peter knew Davy would jump in front of a train for him without a second thought. It brought Davy ever closer to his heart.

"Right, mate. What I'm trying to say," continued Davy, "is that Deanna isn't selfish or greedy. She wants us to be true to ourselves."

There he went again with another hard-to-decipher comment. How was Peter supposed to take these observations? Peter knew one thing for certain, and that was that he would not revert back to his old behavior of being affectionate and touchy-feely with Davy. He couldn't bear the idea of any more rejection from his idol.

God, the level of tension in Peter was off the charts. Davy was turning him inside out with those dark eyes that could penetrate just about anything.

_That dark, always mysterious sexiness that grabbed him and claimed him_.

As much as he wanted to reach out to Davy, he wasn't foolish. The guy had made his feelings clear back at the campsite. Sure, he might have felt threatened, but Peter had taken it seriously. And whatever Davy was trying to say right now was not registering completely with Peter because he was still in "avoid Davy" mode for fear of offending him.

Davy studied Peter, and Peter could feel his eyes on him like a solemn examination of his brain. As if Davy were picking apart every piece of it. Peter wanted to fidget, but he didn't want Davy to sense his trepidation. As if Davy didn't already. Peter knew the answer to that without even thinking about it. Davy seemed to always know everything before the others did. Except for maybe Mike. Davy and Mike were the alphas, and they tended to naturally take over the obligation of looking after the others. The shortest one and the tallest one, working in tandem.

Then, in a flash, something happened that Peter could hardly register, and he was left speechless and stunned. Davy touched his knuckles to Peter's chin for just long enough for Peter to realize Davy truly _was _sorry. Sorry he'd dismissed what had been between them for some time.

Peter lifted searching eyes to Davy, silently begging Davy to be clear with his intentions, and not go on baiting him, whether he meant to or not.

Davy's next move made the touching of Peter's chin seem absolutely nominal. He swooped in, leaning over and kissing Peter directly on the lips, his own lips partially open. It was done swiftly and without warning, designed to make withdrawal difficult, and rejection nearly impossible . . .


	28. Chapter 28

The kiss lasted an instant . . . the kiss lasted forever. While the former was the actual truth, Peter knew he'd remember it for an infinity. The impression of Davy's lips on his . . . something he'd figured he'd never have in this lifetime.

Slowly, unwillingly—so _very_ unwillingly, he opened his eyes when it was over. It was a cherished gift, and he felt horribly greedy to want more.

Davy shuddered as he realized Peter stole his breath. How long had he refused to acknowledge his feelings? He'd kissed plenty of girls just that way—the way he'd kissed Peter. When they weren't expecting it. He'd always enjoyed it too. Surprising them like that. But this should have felt taboo, wicked. What a shock it was to his system that it didn't.

They didn't say anything for a while as they lay back on the sleeping bag, looking up at the banana leaves that formed the roof of the shelter. Davy studied the attractive dark brown mottling on the soft green leaves and breathed in their unique scent, unaware that early this morning, Peter had been reminded of a particular pair of lively, vivacious eyes when he'd been transfixed by the specific color of the mottling. And those eyes belonged to himself—Davy.

Neither one had ever kissed another guy before. What continued to blow Davy's mind was that it didn't feel wrong. Peter . . . well, Davy had a suspicion Peter had no trouble adapting. The guy was pretty well adjusted, accepting, without all the hang-ups Davy had. It fascinated Davy. Davy had accomplished what he'd set out to do though, and that was to show Peter how he felt. He supposed he'd utilized the most convincing way to do it too. He smiled to himself. He'd risen to the challenge and gone all-out, and he was proud of himself.

But now what?

They were both a little shell shocked, so the silence closed in for a while.

"So . . . you really did miss me?" Peter's voice was meek sounding, unsure.

Davy cleared his throat. He'd have to speak to Peter again _sometime._ Might as well be now.

"Hell, Pete. Deanna and I didn't even make love either night you were gone." He supposed that answered the question pretty well.

Peter perked up with interest, maneuvering his way out of the misty cloak of desire that enfolded him.

"You didn't?" he asked.

Davy shook his head solemnly, while still gazing up at the leaves. "Nope."

Davy cut a quick sideways glance at Peter, and saw a smile on his face. The kind of smile he'd only seen on Peter on certain, very isolated occasions.

"I feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Peter murmured. "I mean, I'm sorry you guys didn't make love, but I'm glad you missed me. Is that selfish?"

Davy fought back a smile. "Uh-uh."

Peter had always kept three images of Davy in his mind that he carried with him everywhere. The serious, delving, unnerving look that penetrated . . . the mischievous, impish, up-to-no-good look . . . and the genuinely happy, sanguine, slightly open-mouthed smile. Right now Davy exhibited something nestled somewhere between these—kind of an at peace look etched his features; not "on" like when he was on stage, not moody, which was one of his vices, and not fussy the way he looked when he wasn't sure about his appearance before a date. Just peaceful. Davy had so many expressions, but this one was one Peter could live with forever. Davy looked tranquil and serene. For such a high energy, go-get-'em type of person who was also an overachiever, this was quite a transformation.

Davy still couldn't quite bring himself to look at Peter yet, and Peter sensed it, but he was in no hurry. Instead, he tried to ease the tension by bringing up a memory.

"Remember the time I was really scared when we had that bad thunder storm, and I jumped into bed with you?"

Davy cracked a smile. "Yeah, I do." And he did, just as if it were yesterday, when it had in fact been two years ago. Peter's body had been warm and inviting.

"I got a hard-on," admitted Davy. "Then I had to remind myself you weren't a fuckin' girl."

Peter laughed loud and long and without inhibition, the kind of laugh Davy loved to hear from him. Carefree. It meant Peter was relaxed and loose.

"If only I'd known," Davy continued. "That it was actually _you _that caused it, not the thought of a girl. But my jacked up ego wouldn't let me realize the truth. I was mad at myself when it started happening more often, and I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I used the punching bags once for so long that I almost threw up."

"Geez, David. You turn from a goldfish into a shark without even pausing."

"But you do understand why, don't you Peter?" It was important to Davy that Peter understand how difficult this was for him to face.

"Stereotype. You want to be the stereotype of a strong, capable, invincible guy. But life doesn't always work that way. I mean, you're strong and capable, but also vulnerable. Everyone is."

He was right, mused Davy. Whether he was boxing, bowling, swimming, running, or even performing, he always felt he had to prove himself. Prove himself a man. And this, right here, right now, had never been his definition of a man. It was a fact though. He desired Peter. Getting used to that thought did more than unsettle him a little.

"We'd better go check those traps," Davy said after a while.

It didn't bother Peter that Davy had not commented on what he'd said. He knew Davy was examining it internally and would speak up when he felt ready to. They checked the traps and found them empty. They decided to give it another two hours, and then head back to Deanna whether they caught a fish or not. By the time they got back it would be late afternoon.

"You are going to go back with me, aren't you Pete?" Davy asked, sounding a little diffident.

"If you guys want me there."

"We both do. You should have seen Deanna when she saw that you were gone. She was almost inconsolable. The three of us . . . " Davy paused, not sure what words to use.

"Belong together?" Peter threw it out without thinking first. He winced slightly, afraid of the answer, afraid he'd been presumptuous.

"This is all so new to me," Davy practically tripped over his own words. This was sudden, it was true, and Peter felt a sharp pang of sympathy for his friend who wasn't as easy going and nonconformist as he was.

"And you aren't sure about Deanna?"

"No," In order to get blunt honesty, you have to give it. "I'm not. I'm not sure if she thinks it's just going to be here, on the island—like a fling-type of thing, or if we'll continue after we get home. If I had my way though . . ."

Peter knew Davy was reluctant to give any specifics. But he'd kissed him, hadn't he? Davy had kissed him, and Peter hadn't even had to touch him. He'd done it all on his own, and that sent a significant message to Peter.

"Deanna will really worry if we're not back by dusk."

"Yeah, and hopefully with a couple of fish," Peter's upbeat demeanor helped Davy to ride out the two hours before they would check the traps for the final time.

Peter's mouth watered at the thought. He'd eaten almost nothing today. Aside from being hungry, Peter was craving something else much more. Getting more of Davy's lips was consuming his mind.

On their way back to Peter's shelter for the second time, Davy remembered something that he thought Peter might find comical.

"Hey, when Kapena came the morning after you disappeared, he asked me if things were going alright after we found you. I told him yeah, but we'd had another misunderstanding, and you'd slipped away again," Davy stopped to laugh. "He said we'd better cage you up if we caught you again because you're quite the greased pig." Peter threw his head back and had another round of raucous laughter.

By the time they got back to Peter's tent, both guys were getting tired. They sat back down on the sleeping bag, and Davy thought about how he'd been harping to himself when they'd been checking the traps that he had to keep this up, in order to convince Peter he and Deanna wanted him back. What he had to do was a very pleasant task. It was just difficult to muster up the courage again.

This time he clasped Peter's opposite cheek and pulled him in, rather roughly in his hurry to complete the move before he chickened out, and then kissing Peter's temple as Peter's head rested on his chest, over his heart.

"Pete, I'm all fucked up."

"How?" Peter could scarcely form the word because he'd been thinking of how to approach Davy, and Davy had taken him by surprise yet again.

"Because I don't know how to handle this. What to do, what to say." Davy was making himself vulnerable again, leaving himself open to possible ridicule, but he had to communicate to Peter how mountain-moving hard this was for him. He knew Peter would not laugh at him though. He knew Peter as well as his boyhood neighborhood in Manchester, and that was pretty damn well.

"There aren't any rules," Peter came back smoothly. "I like everything you've done and said so far."

God, but Peter was making it easy for him. So much easier than it would have been otherwise. Peter was such a generous being.

Peter raised up a bit and worked his way in, opening his lips against Davy's neck, startling a gasp out of his friend. They both wore swimming trunks, and there was no hiding their excitement. Then Peter decided it was about time he kissed Davy.

This kiss was different. It was nothing like the peck Davy had given him. This kiss was smoldering. Lingering, urgent and passionate, yet loving too. It had a little of everything in it. Peter poured all his emotion into it. All the emotion he'd been holding back in the years he'd known Davy. All the yearning, the craving, materialized in this kiss. His heart had wailed so many times when he'd refrained from approaching Davy this way. The pent-up hurt had poked at him each time he'd resisted. Now his heart was so full of pin pricks that it was in danger of ripping, tearing apart.

When their lips finally wrenched apart with a real effort from both, Davy thought about Deanna back at the tent, waiting for them, and he also worried about her.

"Pete . . ." Davy's voice was uncharacteristically husky. "Damn. Not fair . . . not fair to Deanna."

Peter inhaled sharply. It hit him hard in the gut. Davy was right. They shouldn't be kissing or doing anything away from Deanna. She had a right to be there. It wasn't just himself and Davy. It was the three of them.

"I suppose kissing is okay," said Davy softly. "Until we go check the traps."

"Then hopefully we'll have dinner, and we can take it back," For the first time, Peter stated out loud that he had every intention of returning with Davy. This prompted another kiss. Davy wanted his hands all over Peter, but somehow, and he had no idea how—he resisted.

They kissed with hardly a pause now and then for the next two hours. Davy was so worked up, so filled with urgency, that he was actually glad when they got up and went to the shore, dragging Peter's sleeping bag and supplies, to see if there would be any fish. He hadn't known how much longer he could hold back.

Inwardly, they were both straining at the bit, praying for there to be a fish or two, feeling that somehow it would be a good omen. What they found in the trap was a young Yellow Spot Travally. Perfect for dinner, as Davy had read they were very tasty. They estimated it weighed four or five pounds.

They cheered and then began their walk back to the campsite, stopping now and then to kiss along the way, Davy still holding on to some bashfulness, and Peter, well, he was just pure eagerness. Despite his timidity, Davy was usually the aggressor because he wanted no doubt in Peter's mind about how he felt. The kisses were hot and searching, lips open now, tongues occasionally coming into play, yet retreating too. Teasing.

_Foreplay._ Peter knew Davy thrived on it—he'd told him so. Davy had made sure Deanna had learned to love it too. And now he was using it on Peter.

"You fuckin' turn me on, David," breathed Peter. He was throbbing with need. It was all he could manage not to reach down and touch Davy.

Peter recalled Davy's words about foreplay lasting all day long, and now it was intriguing Peter. Peter had paid attention to Davy's words. He planned to drive Davy crazy with foreplay, and Deanna too. He had lots of half-formed ideas in his mind.

Their hearts jumped into their throats when they saw Deanna standing not more than a couple hundred yards away as they pulled back from yet another passionate kiss. She'd seen—if she'd been looking their way, she'd seen. Without a doubt.

Nervousness instantly gripped Davy. He'd told Deanna he had feelings for Peter, but had not elaborated. Even though it was simple to figure out, surely it must still have shocked her to the core to actually see it, there at the water's edge, with neither of them holding back.

In one stride, Deanna came to a sharp, jarring stop. Peter and Davy were walking toward her, and she'd been ready to break into a run to get to them quicker to greet them with open arms. What she saw next shook her up massively. She could hardly believe her eyes.

Seeing them in the embrace, their heads together, and what they were doing was about as obvious as it gets. This was no quickie either. They kissed extensively, like lovers, before finally ending it, and then looking ahead as they began to walk again, and she knew the exact moment they saw her. They both seemed to freeze. She didn't know if she should be wildly jealous or deliriously happy.

She suddenly felt very odd. Prickly, cold, left out, almost forgotten. Davy had left her alone all day, had found Peter who knew how long ago, and now they were leisurely walking along as if they had all the time in the world to get back to her. Even stopping to kiss. They'd probably taken their time in deciding what time to return, too. And here Davy had expressed such concern for her that he'd left her with a gun, yet she didn't even know how to use it. They seemed to have plenty of time to stop and kiss each other, yet she'd been waiting, alone, in the tent for most of the day.

She began to fume inside. She tried to stop it, but it suddenly seemed to her as if Peter had taken her place. Couldn't they have at least waited until they got back to her before they started pawing each other, disregarding her like this? She wanted to be _included._ She couldn't think clearly for the anger that continued to creep up on her steadily until it became rage. Her chest felt hot inside, her breath smoldered in her throat as she breathed. She'd been neglected, omitted, excluded!

Wasn't she supposed to be part of this? Or had they decided they only wanted each other now? Common sense called to her, but she was buried too deeply into her personal suffering and sorrow to acknowledge it, much less talk some sense into herself.

When they reached each other, Peter and Davy now trotting, she still walking, the first thing she noticed was how lighthearted and sunny they looked. Buoyant and gleeful, they smiled at her with such authentic contentment, as if they had something truly spectacular to tell her.

_Yeah, she bet they did._

Then she saw the big fish Peter was carrying.

"I found him!" Davy pointed out the obvious. He, of course, was indicating Peter, not the fish.

"And I brought him home to you. Peter caught us a fish for dinner too!"

"We both did," Peter corrected him.

"So I see. Looks like you caught more than a fish to me . . ." her voice sounded gritty, sarcastic. Her eyes were steely gray and cold, not their usual silver tint. They flashed daggers at Davy.

Davy and Peter looked confused, taken aback. Davy made the correct assumption that she was resentful, feeling like the less important party.

_Act fast, Jones._

He did the first thing that came to mind. The only tactic that made sense to him. He threw his arms around Deanna.

"I'm so glad to see you. We started back here as soon as we caught a fish. We had to wait a while to trap one. I found Peter a couple of miles from our camp," he buried his face in her neck, hoping she would believe him.

Peter hung back, not knowing what to do. Davy motioned him over, and the three of them hugged.

Deanna's heart began to thaw. They had caught a fish for dinner. They hadn't been staying away on purpose. They'd wanted to bring home their catch they were so proud of—present it to her.

She smiled into their faces as their arms remained around each other. The sound and smell of the salty surf in addition to the scent of their warm, tangy skin, the taste of their lips when she kissed them was enthralling. She kissed Davy first, and then watched him to see how he would feel about her kissing Peter. There was no sign of dithering in his eyes. After she had kissed Peter, the tension dissolved in all of them. It simply dried up and evaporated, carried away by the ocean breeze.

"We've done a hell of a lot of walking today," explained Davy as they began to travel back from where Deanna had come. "Miles of it."

He told her where Peter had been camping in the trees, about the fish traps he'd made, how he'd found water, and made a shelter. Deanna was deeply affected. Sounded as if Peter was quite the survivor when the need arose. She just hoped he wouldn't go off by himself again. She would make sure that didn't happen, she thought to herself with resolve. She and Davy would be dynamic together in persuading Peter to stay—she was certain they could convince Peter of how much they needed him.

Excitement, arousal and contentment enveloped Deanna as one. This was exactly what she had been hoping would happen, so why had she been resentful when she'd seen them kissing? Maybe because Davy had told her before he'd left to look for Peter that he wasn't sure what his feelings for Peter entailed. Perhaps she'd wanted them to discover that when they were all together. Didn't matter now though, because the guys had recognized and revealed their feelings. Who knew, it might never have happened had Peter not left. Davy might have been too self-conscious to allow it to come about, particularly under her watchful eye.

In any case, none of them could wait to get back to camp to cook the fish, eat together, and see where these feelings led them.

Deanna and Peter had an opportunity to talk when Davy was gutting the fish. They spoke discreetly in the tent, but not in a secretive manner. If Davy had entered the tent, they would have just continued the conversation.

"How did you manage it, Peter?" she asked, and no explanation was needed. Peter was right on the ball. He realized Deanna was cutting to the chase.

"I turned the tables on him and stopped chasing him. Let him chase me. It worked." Well, even for a synopsis it was brief, but Deanna could picture it in her mind.

"So he was still fighting it for a while?"

"Oh yeah. I know I've implied it before, but I'll say it again. He's awful hardheaded sometimes."

Yeah, she could relate to that. Davy was one determined individual, obstinate and set in his ways when it came to certain subjects and situations.

_A lot like Mike,_ she remembered that had been mentioned somewhere along the way. The exception was Mike was tougher to break, according to Davy and Peter. Davy wasn't quite so extreme, but it still took some real convincing to change his mind.

"Deanna . . . I . . . um, I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to steal Davy away from you. You don't . . . think that, do you? Cause if you do, I won't . . ." Peter wet his dry lips with his tongue, apparently having exhausted his flow of words as well as his confidence.

Oh Peter. He almost broke her heart with his sincerity. And she wished he'd stop licking his lips, because it was way too alluring.

"No, Peter! I know how you feel about Davy, and I've never protested before, have I?"

"No, but . . . you never really said what you really thought either."

He had a point.

"You're right. We should have discussed it more. None of us really said anything beyond mentioning the attraction," she agreed. "But I can tell you that I think it's really sexy. I approve, okay?"

Peter's smile was like a beacon that could have lit up a major black-out. He hugged her warmly, and with such feeling that she wondered how anyone in their right mind could withstand his sexy sweetness without throwing themselves at him. She could see now that, unwittingly, Davy had stolen Peter's thunder for years.

* * *

Deanna gathered the used paper plates and utensils, placing them in the garbage bag, and smiled at the tortoise sitting next to Peter, finishing up his dinner of banana slices. The animal had actually walked toward Peter when he'd seen him, as if he were a dog. If he'd been able to run, Deanna was quite sure he would have.

"That was really delicious," commented Peter.

"It sure was," Deanna crooned. Davy nodded with enthusiasm as he savored his last bite, obviously in agreement.

"We have to wash up," Peter and Davy said in almost the same breath. They always seemed to be of like mind.

"We've been sweating, walking all those miles, and Peter isn't used to the humidity yet."

"Not much water left," observed Peter. "Kapena's due tomorrow?"

Davy nodded.

"Guys, wait until Kapena comes with our new supply. You guys are worrying about nothing. Your smell is sexy, and it's not that strong." She was understating it by a mile. It attracted her to no end. It must be the pheromones she'd read about. Potent and heady in a subtle way.

Davy and Peter exchanged bewildered looks. Davy hated being sweaty—it made him feel like he was smelly. Peter was not quite as fanatical about it as Davy, who was meticulous almost to a fault, but he still preferred being clean. At the Pad, Davy often took two showers a day. Peter would definitely prefer washing with soap before being alone with Deanna and Davy, and searched his mind for a solution.

"We could go for a swim," he suggested.

"Silly! Seawater is salty, and that's what sweat smells like," said Deanna. Davy nodded his assent.

"Now, if you guys went for a few days without bathing, I'd be repelled, but it must be a natural thing, because I'm attracted . . . "

Both Davy and Peter blushed, and there wasn't a thing they could do about it . . . except. . . They both headed for the tent, but Deanna blocked them.

"What?" asked Davy.

"I know what you're doing. You're going to grab the deodorant, and I'm not having it."

Davy and Peter, defeated once again by a woman, sighed and sat back down by the fire. Deanna knew what she wanted, and they might as well accept it. They weren't going to protest anymore.

"Trust me on this," she said with emphasis, her final word on the subject.

The three of them sat close to each other, Indian style in front of the fire, their limbs touching. That slow burn that had nothing to do with the fire started again in Deanna's belly. She had short shorts on and a clingy sleeveless top. She'd bathed and then washed and fixed her hair, hoping it was alluring. Davy reached around to her back, and his fingers skated along her spine. She almost made a sound of pleasure, but she wasn't quite ready to come completely unraveled the way she longed to. Peter gently tickled her ribs, which was really more of a caress.

She felt the wetness grow between her legs. As the guys made mild jokes, touching her casually, flirting with her and each other, she realized they were practicing Davy's brand of foreplay.

No one kissed, but their eyes told the entire story. They were hot for each other—all three of them. The flirting game was on, and Deanna was central to the attention. She felt like she was on display, and it was far from unpleasant.

But something was nagging at her. Davy and Peter had not been alone. She knew they'd been alone to kiss when they had awaited the fish trap, but she also knew nothing sexual had occurred. Davy would have confessed. She knew him well enough by now to be willing to bet a large sum on it.

She assumed they'd feel more comfortable alone together before the three of them joined again. Her problem was figuring out how to get them to go to the other tent. They needed to get to have a chance to get familiar intimately with each other before other things started happening. At least a_ little_ bit. She felt there would be a strain, particularly on Davy, as his ego was the most fragile. But soon, things started to flow, and the guys proved otherwise to her.

Davy leaned over slightly, and she felt him getting near—too near. His breath ghosted so exquisitely on her neck that she felt faint, the goose bumps popping out on her skin. Peter kissed her cheek a second later, and the world started spinning. She had a sneaking suspicion the guys were competing with each other in their friendly, boyish way. She could hardly tolerate any more of this, and she wondered if they knew it. The tremors in her middle were becoming small earthquakes as Davy's lips traveled all over her neck, Peter's lips beginning the same treatment on the other side of her neck.

Davy was actually vibrating on the inside. Both from nervousness and arousal. He hoped no one else could feel it. Anxiety and pleasure warred inside him in nearly equal measures.

Deanna saw Peter's self-esteem inflating by the minute. Davy had apparently done a good job building his confidence when they'd been gone today. Davy had a way with words, and Deanna would have given a lot to know what he'd said to Peter. In no way was Peter overbearing, but his boosted ego was hard to miss. He touched her far more often than he'd ever done before, and she also noticed the way he'd sneak in a quick touch to Davy's hand or arm on occasion. The whole situation was chock full of sexual tension.

Davy suddenly piped up.

"Let's go into the tent and Pete and I will sing you some harmonies. Shades of Gray, mate?" he directed the request to Peter.

"It's a little dark—the song, that is. Pardon the pun," Peter glanced at the advancing dusk and smiled at Deanna. "How about 'This Just Doesn't Seem To Be My Day?' Or 'Saturday's Child?' Good harmonies there."

"That would be groovy, But 'This Just Doesn't Seem To Be My Day,' isn't anything close to a love ballad, but most importantly, we need the other fellows to do those. Two part harmony won't work."

Oh, so they were planning to woo her with a melody, were they? It wasn't necessary. The foreplay, stepped up gradually would have her begging within an hour. As long as they kept their sense of humor and their air of romance—as long as they were themselves, they could win her over a million times without even trying. They were Davy and Peter, and no one else had their effect on her. She couldn't even imagine being with any two other guys on the planet.

Every little move they made, no matter how slight, gave her pleasure, increased the tension, made her desire roll in waves. Peter shifted his weight a little, and Deanna's pulse went into high gear. Davy barely moved his leg into a more comfortable position, and even though it didn't even cause his leg to touch hers, all Deanna's nerves fired at the same time. These two guys were seriously getting to her. She heard their every breath, their every sigh, as if she were an actual part of them. The three of them, meshed. A nice thought.

The ambience was almost unbearable. The setting, the mood, in addition to how incredibly hot these two guys were, the way she was drawn to them because they were who they were, was heady and drugging.

She watched the change in them right before her eyes. She observed quietly as their friendship edged toward evolving into a love affair. They were blatantly flirting, reaching over her to slap at each other gently, and with true affection. A hand lingering on a wrist longer than necessary, other soft behavior that she had witnessed odd pieces and fragments of before. Fifty years later, this kind of thing would be labeled as a "bromance." Although in reality, it would certainly surpass that. The stage they were in now had not yet blossomed into full- fledged romance, but Deanna had a feeling it was not far off.

Davy felt her quiet but avid interest. Her normally silvery eyes were now a misty, dewy, inviting smoky grey. Teasing and receptive. He knew at a glance that she had graduated to the point to where she'd eagerly go into the tent with them. Without a single pause in her step. She was feeling them both . . . they were feeling her . . . and if he wasn't mistaken, he and Peter were also feeling each other . . .


	29. Chapter 29

As they entered the tent, every one of them was jittery. Davy wished they had some good weed, or even some beer, but at the same time, he was afraid it would muddle things for them, and they wouldn't be clear-headed enough for the experience with minds that were jumbled or hazy. No, that wouldn't do. So it was just as well that they were all sober and knew just what they were doing- would be less likely to have serious regrets tomorrow.

The flashlights had been turned out. Deanna realized it as soon as her head emerged from under the sleeping bag, as she'd been taking her clothes off underneath it. Davy and Peter were moving around, but she only saw their naked outlines in the reflection of the fire that was cleverly built slightly off to the side by Davy so it wouldn't be quite so bright inside the tent.

When they dropped down beside her, they pulled down the sleeping bag that was on top of her, and a moment later she felt their warm, bare bodies slide against hers. Deanna's heart was full of love, but she also felt lusty as hell, and the combination left her breathless. Being in love and feeling passionate for her man was something she'd never had the pleasure of encountering before. And here she had_ two_ men, not one, pledging themselves to her.

How much time had elapsed since Peter had flown into Maui? How much time had gone by since they'd been on Moloaki? She had no idea. She hadn't kept track of the days, because she hadn't wanted to know. She just wanted to bask in all this sweet affection from the two of them. She wanted it to be everlasting, but she hadn't said that in so many words to Davy. She wasn't sure how he looked at this. She knew he loved Peter because their closeness told her so, even if Davy didn't know it himself yet. She was in love with Davy, and felt sure she was on the brink of falling for Peter too. Somehow it made perfect sense—the three of them, as crazy as it seemed. And she was hoping that tonight Peter and Davy might loosen up more with each other. She was hungry to see it, hungry to be a part of it. Starving in fact . .

"I'll be right back," Peter disappeared through the tent flap.

"You like Peter a lot, don't you?" asked Davy when Peter was gone, apparently to pee.

Deanna didn't balk or even hesitate.

"Of course. I think you know that ship has already sailed."

Davy chuckled at her candor. "Do you like him _enough_ though?" was his next question.

Tricky, cryptic question. Davy was an expert at that. "Enough . . . what exactly do you mean? I like him a lot—he's a good friend. If I'd met him before you, he'd probably be my best friend, next to Cassie."

"And more," Davy's eyes were positively shit-eating.

Deanna paused, sighed, and admitted it. "Okay, and more. I can completely see why you have the hots for him." She grinned, and Davy blushed.

"You aren't terribly upset with me for the kiss you saw on the beach?" Davy hated bringing it up again after seeing the fire in her eyes earlier. "It must have been . . . alarming."

Deanna nodded. "It was quite a jolt, but as you saw, I got over it."

"I'm also sorry," began Davy again, since he was now on a roll, "that I didn't tell you the extent of my 'crush' on him. Actually, I didn't fully realize myself until . . . until Pete and I were alone at his shelter."

"I believe you, Davy. My anger was short-lived. Frankly, I think I knew the extent of it before _you_ did," she smiled again.

Peter reappeared, holding something in his hand. He turned a flashlight on briefly to show her a small bottle he and Davy had found on the sand a little while ago. In it were various colorful Hawaiian flowers, forming a delicate, beautiful mini bouquet. Davy and Peter had, of course, picked out the flowers. Peter had put fresh water in the bottle to keep them perky and fresh.

"It's from both of us," Peter smiled, and that damn dimple melted her heart again for about the millionth time. All her defenses crumbled. How could just one look, one smile from him do that to her?

"Oh, thanks guys. It's so pretty." Deanna felt like crying. It meant more to her than a very expensive bouquet like what one would buy at a flower shop.

Her gaze turned to Peter, and then Davy's bodies, which were both exposed, their wondrous erections saluting her in the muted light of the fire. Peter extinguished the flashlight in a hurry, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He sat the bottle of flowers in a corner, and came to lay down with them.

"I want something understood," Deanna spoke up, jarring Davy and Peter with her abruptness. She cleared her throat and braced herself for what she was about to say. "It's not all about . . . sex. Not for me."

Davy and Peter silently mulled over her statement with furrowed brows. Davy stiffened, his posture refractory. He was taking offense, she could tell.

When he was able to speak past his dry throat, he said, "Do you think it's all about sex for us?" the astonishment that laced his voice was well defined. The guys' attention on her was so acute that she felt probed, scanned and scrutinized.

"No, no I don't. But . . . I want it understood that this is no small, insignificant thing to me. It's something I haven't even thought about doing ever before. It's important—and I don't want it taken lightly."

"I love you, Deanna. Pete and I aren't going into this carelessly. I wouldn't allow that. I wouldn't allow _any_ guy to join us like this but Pete. I know he'll take care of you as I do, in more ways than one. He'll give you love, comfort, protection, affection, just as I do. He has an abundance of all that. Tell her, Pete."

It was Peter's turn to clear his throat, praying silently that he could articulate what was in his heart.

"I feel . . . like I might be falling in love with you, Deanna," he began, his boldness shocking her down to the bone. It was the only way to get across to her how serious he really was. "I'm already in love with Davy, and have been for at least a couple of years. I like the three of us together, and I can see . . . something . . . enduring here. _Not just sex,"_ he emphasized.

Peter was simplistic, as he usually was. Something Davy found intriguing about him was that he was intelligent and quick, yet he approached things in such a genuine, transparent way that he was sometimes mistaken for being shortsighted. He wasn't. He called things as he saw them, naturally, with little or no filters.

As if echoing Davy's thoughts, Peter said, "Micky once said I'm no bargain in the shade."

Davy smirked. "He was kidding, babe! It was after I'd commented you'd gotten too much sun. We were just playing around. Everyone knows you and Mike are the most intelligent of all of us. Of course, Mike did also say that not a one of us was dumb," Davy's eyes sparkled with even more sheen than usual. "And Mike doesn't give compliments freely." Deanna could see that Davy was allowing himself a little credit too. It was well deserved, but she had to grin at his love of patting himself on the back at times. Yeah, he definitely had quite the ego. After a minute, his eyes filled with reflection.

"What does this have to do with our prior discussion?" Deanna was befuddled. They'd really digressed.

"Oh, sorry, Deanna. We sometimes tend to get a bit wistful," apologized Davy. _So that's what the reflection in his eyes had been about. _

"I was afraid you weren't taking me seriously," Peter directed to her. "That's why I mentioned what Mike had said. I really mean it, and I want you to believe me."

"I've never thought you were the least bit simple-minded," stated Deanna emphatically.

Despite the detour in conversation, Davy was floored at Peter's declaration of his love for him. Being attracted to someone could be fleeting and often superficial. Being in love with them was a sharp contrast, and seriously sobering. He also knew that he'd have to reach deep within himself soon and try to tease his feelings to the surface, the feelings he'd been unintentionally concealing from himself and Peter. He hadn't been true to himself, much less to Peter with the ever trusting mindset. Peter gave Davy more credence than he deserved, thought Davy, feeling like he was a disgrace.

Peter spoke up again. "You don't think it's all about sex for me, do you Deanna? I don't want you thinking that . . ."

"I'm with Peter," Davy spoke up. "I'm tired of playing the field. It was smashing for a while, but now it's right boring."

Deanna smiled with satisfaction. It looked like the guys were making a commitment. Or at least they wanted to, and that was promising.

_Give them time. Hopefully they would commit not only to her, but to each other as well._

That was really the only thing stifling the three of them—Davy's apparent resistance to let down his guard and lose his reserve with Peter. He hung onto that male pride of his with a ferocity that was solidly anchored.

_Unless it was just shyness._ She suspected it was both.

This love was a beast. It refused to be discounted. It dominated Deanna's every thought, always running in the background. She had all the riches she needed in the world here, with these two. She wanted nothing else. It stunned her with its fierceness.

Maybe the night and the shadowy tent would lend Davy the courage to expose his feelings that had been carefully cloaked for so long. His façade must have worn him down at least somewhat by now. His constant charade on a daily basis to hide what he felt from his bandmates. Camouflage, deception—how it must have weighed on him. He'd been pretending, not only to the other guys, but to Peter and himself.

When Peter flopped down next to them, Davy's mind was still in turmoil.

_Deanna and Peter, in love with him. _The thought didn't alarm him nearly as much as he might have imagined. Rather, he felt it gave this semi-solid, semi-shaky foundation of theirs a fighting chance.

Peter was scooting closer to them, his eyes sporting that sultry look Davy and Deanna were coming to recognize.

"Slow," Davy gently reminded him. The one word said it all. He wanted to say "easy," but checked himself. It was something he often said to a rambunctious horse, and that certainly didn't apply here. Wisely keeping it to himself, he found the thought comical in passing.

Deanna, lying on her back, looked up into Davy's face. Innocence to sensuality, playfulness to steaming hot, Davy's expressions changed as quickly as a color wheel aimed at a Christmas tree, all of them drastically different, seeming to blend and play over his face in frolicsome, elfin turns.

Peter was a lot more earthy. Honesty dripped from him, and where love play was concerned, he was almost painfully frank instead of impish like Davy, who could be a real tease. Also a little untamed when aroused, Peter, having had less experience, also had less control than Davy. Davy worked more on strategy, Peter more on instinct. They were the most enchanting pair by far Deanna had ever known. And she mustn't give them any false impressions about herself by putting on an overly coy act. She had been flighty, and it had not helped Davy and Peter with their _own_ relationship. She knew what she wanted, and she needed to uncomplicate things for them so they could open their own doors more easily. She needed to let them know, somehow, how strong and deep her feelings ran for them. Actions could speak more loudly than a bullhorn . . .

Davy began to kiss her, very slowly and deliberately, setting the bar for Peter, who looked ready to ravish her. Deanna felt as if she might choke on her own shallow breaths when Davy ended an incredibly intense kiss that had intensified in careful degrees, starting out languidly and stepping up into absolute bliss. Smooth and suave, yet the underlying primitive side of him was catching up.

Glancing at the ocean through the tent flap to catch his breath to discipline and regulate himself, something flickered across Davy's face that she couldn't put a name to. The moon hit him at just the right angle, silhouetting his face like an avenging angel. She was sure nothing on this earth was as perfect, as beautiful.

"Are you serious, Davy?" she said, the words feeling caustic on her tongue. "How can I compete with all those others before me?" She was pursuing the conversation from before their kiss. She knew he was touchy about it, but it was essential to her to shed light on how kosher he really was about this.

Davy looked strained, grim, even a little dismal. He sighed deeply. "I can't change my past, Deanna. I'm so sorry it hurts you. I can move forward though. And I want to . . . with you and Peter."

She could hardly take a deep breath; her throat felt clogged. Hearing these words from Davy was her dream come true. It sounded as if he was taking it as seriously as she was. He was making a convincing argument that he and Peter were different . . . promising they wouldn't be like the others before them.

They practiced touching—Davy and Peter haltingly, Deanna eagerly, rubbing her hands on their chests and arms, relishing their feel. She observed how the guys would approach each other, and then retreat—sending out hesitant feelers. They were still very wary, their movements jerky and bordering on doubtful. She tried to release some of the mental pressure on them by acting very casual, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. It was the only way she could think of to lend them a hand, and in truth, it was as foreign to her as it was to them.

At first, it was almost painful to watch. The approach and retreat happened many times, and Deanna's heart was sharply tugged each time a touch or caress was aborted. She finally wised up and had them lie on their backs next to each other with just barely enough room for herself to wedge between them, above them and facing them, on her belly and supported on her elbows. Then she sprinkled kisses back and forth, light and easy at first, and then lingering, luxuriating in capturing the moment with her mind, lips and soul. Gradually edging in, and then throwing herself into the kisses until they became the kind where the ecstasy happens to your whole body, not just your lips. Sucked into it, no one offered any resistance.

Boldly, she granted herself permission to give the hands of fate a gentle nudge. She hardly knew herself anymore. She hardly recognized her actions. The realization soaked in then; if this were to be only for their stay here in Hawaii, or if it were to turn into a thousand forevers, she still wanted it to happen. If it was to only last for the remainder of their vacation, she was aware that her bright, vibrant youth would some day be gone, and this would be a memory to carry her through her sunset years. And she didn't want to regret not having experienced it. Yeah, it was worth the hurt she might have to endure.

She fervently hoped, though, for something more than a brief thrill between the three of them. She tried to convey that through her actions. The kissing was now wet, feverish and wild with little remaining restraint. They licked at her tongue, and she enjoyed the slippery silkiness, sucking and nibbling their lips, and then the thing she'd been subconsciously aiming for came to fruition.

Turning their heads, trying to catch her lips with their own as she teased them, going back and forth the way she was, it only took a slight increase of a twist of the neck, and Davy and Peter were suddenly, gloriously, kissing. They rolled onto their sides, and Deanna didn't think they were even aware of it. Impulse took the wheel. Deanna stayed right where she was, enjoying the best seat in the house. Lying between them, and discreetly sliding down a few inches, she gave them ample room to kiss without inhibition. And they did just that. Their lips just sank into each other.

They clutched each other as if they would never be able to touch again should they lose active contact. The little groans and sighs fired Deanna up so much she felt like she would ignite. Peter wantonly grabbed onto the back of Davy's hair, as Davy wrapped his arms around Peter's neck the same way Deanna herself did when kissing one of them.

She had to be in some kind of twilight zone. It was all so surreal. Her thinking was cloudy, misty and hazy, like a windshield that the wipers have not cleared completely yet. Smudged, streaked, splotchy. So she continued to take it all in, trying to commit every movement to memory. Trying to see through that windshield as if her mind was crystal clear. Trying to accept the reality. After a warm-up, she saw that their kiss had deepened, and they looked like they were in the process of devouring each other, beginning with their mouths.

Her belly clenched in excitement and keen anticipation. Her thoughts were disorganized and she had no idea what might, or should happen next. She eased herself from between them so they could get closer—skin to skin. She laid down to the side of Davy and observed. She thought about going to the other tent for a while, for their sakes, but somehow she sensed they preferred her attendance.

Impelled toward each other now, their bodies gravitated naturally, innately. It was so fundamental, so intrinsic. Deanna saw now how they were moving so much quicker with each other sexually than they would have with her. They'd been so very considerate with her, always yielding to her wishes. She comprehended now that they'd gone against the grain when it came to sex with her. How much they'd sacrificed, abstained when she'd let it be known what her preferences were. It was a great showing of respect. She silently thanked their mothers for raising their sons to have this kind of reverence for women.

Watching Davy's hips, she saw some slight rolling motions come into play. On the other side, Peter began some grinding of his own. The kissing reached a critical, demanding level as her fascinated eyes stayed fastened on her two men.

Davy knew he was in a world of shit, even as he welcomed it. Kind of a paradox of emotions. He couldn't quite push his doubt to the side, couldn't quite relinquish control. Yet, the incredible passion that Peter was made of was chipping away at the brick wall he'd erected against the fear of being gay. Peter, not altogether familiar with personal perimeters, or maybe just pretending not to be, pushed Davy's boundaries to the limit. Yet Davy granted him free rein, weakened sorely from the years of resisting Peter's sorcery. And that's just what it was—sorcery. Peter was like a wizard to Davy, the way he was able to bewitch him, enticing him with his own kind of magic.

Peter's hand was on Davy's back now, slipping to the base of his spine, rubbing smoothly, then slowly skating all the way back up to his neck. As the grinding increased, hands settled themselves on butts, increasing the contact even further. Just seeing Peter's hands kneading Davy's butt, urging him closer, caused Deanna's wetness to increase, along with her pulse and breathing.

Peter's lips sought Davy's neck, sucking his fevered flesh between his lips. He flipped Davy onto his back with a careless shove, and Davy was as pliant as clay. Davy's erection jutted up, twitching and jerking, and then, suddenly, Peter's hand was on it, his long, graceful bass and keyboard-playing fingers wrapping securely around it. Deanna's gaze was glued to it, the blood thrumming in her ears and in her sex.

Then Peter's hand began to move. Deanna knew then that Peter had flipped Davy over so that she could watch more easily. With the expertise of one who has satisfied himself in that way countless times, Peter manipulated Davy's cock with long, slow strokes, from base to tip, and tip to base, stopping now and then long enough to get an undertone of protest from Davy before continuing. He persisted until Davy's cock, incredibly, hardened even more than it already was, until it felt like a rock, and then Peter stopped the stimulation again.

Another murmur of hushed complaint from Davy, and Peter, timing it to perfection in order that Davy wouldn't come the second he was touched again, lowered himself in line with Davy's thighs, and began to flutter his fingers along the insides of them. Davy did not tolerate this well. It was pure torture to him—Deanna could see that inarguably. Davy's hips rose and lowered frantically a few times before Peter finally lowered his head to capture Davy's cock with his tongue.

Davy gasped loudly, a long "Ahhhh," escaped him that could almost be called a whimper. Deanna sensed he hadn't expected it.

Deanna felt an orgasm building quickly, and only then did she realize she'd been touching herself. The erotic scene had put her into a kind of trance that she didn't want to emerge from.

Peter licked a strip of skin up and down the front of Davy's cock, again, base to tip. Then he licked the sides, top to bottom, taking care to keep his tongue wet and slippery. When he began circling the head with the tip of his tongue, Davy lost it. He grabbed Peter's head, and guided it onto his jerking, suffering cock.

Peter smiled an instant before his lips closed around Davy's shaft. It tasted just the way Peter had imagined it would for all this time—luscious. Peter sucked briefly, lasciviously licking at the same time, then swallowed Davy, deep-throating him instinctively. The look on Davy's face was of pure shock, one to write home about, thought Deanna. Well, not _literally,_ as her mother would not approve, but it was a sight to behold—something to indulge herself in. And indulge, she did.

Leave it to Peter, she thought. Only Peter. Peter loved to please as much as he liked to bestow sweet surprises on people he loved. He was all about giving. He was doing a whole hell of a lot of it right now. Only a few strokes of his mouth later, Davy erupted powerfully.

Deanna saw faint trepidation and apprehension cross Peter's face—the merest shadow of doubt, but as was his true nature, Peter overcame it. He recovered and bounced back like a champ, only coughing once or twice, and managing not to spray a certain substance, which would have been quite the sticky mess. All in all, he managed to retain his grace admirably.

Davy twisted and writhed, out of his head in the midst of something that was much stronger than pleasure. His yelps and hoarse cries would have caused Deanna to come for sure if she had not stopped touching herself.

At last, Davy sighed and held Deanna's hand, half gazing into her soft eyes, and half avoiding them as he recuperated, bashful, his chest heaving, still not fully at ease.

"I've always wanted a 'relationship' with you, David," Peter said in a soothing voice as he held Davy's opposite hand. Peter's brand of unabashed honesty was currently almost too much for Davy. There was too much crawling around in his brain.

"In fact, I missed you so much when you left to go to Hawaii that I had to jerk my tallywacker!"

Deanna's eyes went wide, and she tried to keep a straight face. Davy looked mortified until Deanna finally let loose and began to laugh, and then he could no longer hold back, and let his laughter cascade over them. And that's just what it was. A cascade like a gentle waterfall. Davy had a charming, heart-warming laugh that latched onto you and changed you on the inside, made you needy to hear that laugh again and again.

"That's quite an interesting way of putting it, mate!"

Peter was aroused almost to the limits of his tolerance, even though he was trying to be lighthearted, and Deanna's eyes took him all in, appreciating every little detail, the same way she often did with Davy. So much temptation to reach out and touch him. When Davy guided her hand to a certain part of Peter's anatomy, she knew with conviction and trust that there would be no rivalry or jealousy.

The penis in the hand quickly became one in the mouth, her hunger from watching them overtaking her, and Peter collapsed in ecstasy when Deanna's tongue worked busily on the head, and traced the veins, swirling around busily. He had never really expected this kind of thing to ever happen to him. Lust almost got the better of him; he felt crazed with a need to thrust. This was even better than he'd been led to believe. She discovered he liked the head sucked the most, which was a good thing, for he was far too large to take him all in her mouth. Strong suction on the head caused him to buck and moan, light touches of her tongue inserted into the slit sent him to the moon.

She licked his pre-come from the slit, probing him, and Peter's entire body shook with force. Davy was so engrossed with what she was doing to Peter that Deanna pulled back a couple of times in a silent offer for him to take over, but Davy would not venture forward. She, however, saw the unmistakable hunger in his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to indulge.

Until Deanna licked the base, holding and caressing Peter's balls, leaving the head exposed. Davy finally responded then. After a few hesitant licks, he closed his lips around Peter's cock head and sucked, forming a tight seal. Deanna was beside herself with joy and arousal.

Together, they brought Peter off, taking turns, tongues entwining together between fervent licks, bringing him to a thrashing climax—the climax of his life. It went on for longer than Deanna thought possible. She imagined his beastly sounding roars must have carried out over the ocean. Deanna caught his release in her mouth and prudently offered it to Davy, making no secret of what her intentions were. They'd played this game before, but this time it was not his own seed, but Peter's. If she had forced him into it by tricking and surprising him, it might have turned him against it forever. But Davy slowly kissed her, experimenting in slow motion, pacing himself, and in the process, discovering he liked it, and received a good half of the ejaculate, which had been very impressive amount.

Davy had known she was going to kiss him, and he'd also had a suspicion she had a "gift" for him in her mouth. Well, he'd gone this far . . . The taste was slightly salty, a little bitter, a little sweet, not unlike his own. Deanna made sure he discovered it in very small increments so as not to shock his system. He found it very pleasant, sexually stimulating too. What an unexpected rush it was! He was overcome with pleasure.

At the end of that kiss, he said something under his breath about, "massively good." Deanna heard his words, and she thought her heart might sprout wings and soar into the heavens.

"Did you ever think we'd end up like this?" Peter, bless his heart, still wasn't mincing words.

"No. I was always sickened when guys came onto me. Was never attracted to a solitary one."

Peter had seen it too, with his own eyes. Gay guys were no more discreet with Davy than girls were. They came at him like wild buffalo intent on running him down.

The two guys gave her multiple orgasms that night that tore through her relentlessly. Some were back to back, which astonished and delighted her. With Davy's help, Peter learned about different positions; they experimented and Deanna's arousal peaked when the guys kissed or touched each other. It made the experience even more sensual for her. It seemed there was no end to the possible pleasures. One would be sucking her nipples as the other went down on her. Or one might take her from behind as she pleasured the other with her mouth. Her womb contracted so powerfully that she practically clamped down on them. They both went down on her at once, and the stimulation was so overwhelming that she could hardly move because the intensity of the feeling held her in a vice grip. Later, Deanna and Peter both went down on Davy at once, his cries heard only by night creatures that must have been startled. She hinted that the two guys might want to try pleasuring each other in a special way tomorrow, when everyone had slept and recovered. She added that she would be an avid audience. Both Davy and Peter showed rapt interest in her idea.

Even so, Davy was red faced, and Peter was greatly inspired, eager to love Davy again, but it was late now, and they all fell asleep, sealed in each others' arms.

* * *

They took her up on it, because, needless to say, Deanna awoke the next morning to see Davy and Peter turned around on each other, each working the other's cock in their mouths. It was startling, to say the least, to see her two guys sixty-nine-ing when she first opened her eyes, but she knew it was also the turning point for Davy. He had finally surrendered to it, submitted to his love for Peter fully and completely. And his inhibitions had gone as part of the process. Their hips thrashed with a rhythm long since gone as they reached the precipice. They shuddered and shivered as they came, within seconds of each other. Peter, still hard as a stone, then made love to Deanna as Davy watched on.

Peter, having had his second orgasm in minutes, collapsed onto Deanna in a sweaty, perfect mess. He literally stole her breath when he smiled shyly, his hair hanging down. Then, the tears flowed unchecked from his eyes.

"I'm the sentimental type," he gulped sheepishly.

That was when no doubt remained in Deanna's mind that Peter did, indeed, love her.

"Sorry that was so quick," he added between sniffles.

"That's fine, Peter. I need a rest! Really!" she emphasized it, and Peter and Davy went to wash up at Peter's shelter, leaving the last of the fresh water for Deanna to use before Kapena got there.

* * *

Deanna was furiously writing as Davy entered the tent later that day. She looked up to his devastating smile that still made her feel weak and a little bit numb.

_When would she ever get used to it? Probably never._

She smiled back at him. Because she wanted to, but also because she couldn't_ not_ smile back. The guy could have just confessed to murdering someone, and Deanna would still not be immune to him.

"I would have knocked, but as Peter says, it's pretty hard to knock on a tent flap."

"That's okay."

"Writing, are you?" he looked pleased.

"Yes. It's coming easier lately."

"Inspired by something?" he asked, that devilish side of him peeking out.

"Uh, yeah. I'm inspired alright." Her silver eyes teased him.

"And it's safe to say Peter and I brought about the inspiration?"

She nodded shyly. "I think it would be safe to say that."

His eyes roamed over her, and it was maddening—trying to write with him so near. She was utterly distracted now. Davy did that to her. Too easily. Much too easily.

Davy loved the way Deanna looked right back at him, directly into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts. She had such a look of adoration on her face. More than he'd ever seen before on a girl. And he'd seen a lot. Lots of girls had come and gone in and out of his door and in and out of his young life, but there was nary a one that could do to him what Deanna did, even with all her clothes on.

"I've got to call my mother and Cassie," Deanna set her paper and pen to the side, giving up on the idea of even attempting to write as long as he was in here with her. He was a bundle of charm and sex appeal that was beyond beguiling, and she couldn't even form a coherent thought to put to paper.

"You'll be able to. Tomorrow. Kapena is coming back again tomorrow."

"A day early? But he was just here . . ."

"I may as well tell you now. We'll be going back with him to Maui." Davy's voice had softened, tinged perhaps with a bit of woe, and he paused, waiting for her reaction.

She gasped audibly. It's not . . . it's not time already, is it?" her eyes widened with dismay.

"I'm afraid so. I told you a little earlier than I should have, but I want to be sure you have enough time to do anything that you might want to do before leaving." He was hugging her now, her head nestled on his shoulder, and he felt her hot tears trickling down his neck and onto his chest. He held her tight, as if to protect her from the anguish of leaving this place of mutual felicity.

"Nothing will change, Deanna. We'll still be a threesome. It's what Peter and I want. I hope you want that too." In the few days since the night all three of them had been together, they'd gotten increasingly closer. They'd had long periods of foreplay during the day and very hot, fervid nights. They'd had long, involved discussions about everything from music to psychology. They had formed an intimate rapport.

"Of course I do. But what will we do without Molokai? Without the banana trees, the hibiscus, the beautiful clear blue water? What will Peter do without his tortoise?"

Davy burst into laughter. "I'll buy you a small banana tree you can plant where you can watch it grow. We could put it in the yard at the Pad if you'd like. The weather doesn't get too cold for it to be outside there. I can buy you a hibiscus house plant, and as for Peter's tortoise—well, we can find him one at a pet shop. We could hide it when Mr. Babbitt comes for the rent," his brown eyes danced with mischief at the thought. "We were once almost successful in hiding a horse from him, and would have—except that the horse wouldn't go up the stairs. A tortoise would be no sweat."

She shook her head and smiled through the tears. "And maybe we can leave one of the tents for the tortoise when we leave?" she asked anxiously. The tortoise had now taken to coming into the tent by himself when darkness fell. Deanna feared he'd feel lost without it when the sun went down and they were gone.

"Great idea. In fact, we can leave both tents. After all, we'll be coming back to Moloaki eventually," Davy said this last sentence with real conviction in his voice. She believed him.

How could it be that this had come about? So much had changed. How would she get around it with her mother? How would she tell Cassie and Derrick? Cassie would be delighted that Deanna had become such a wanton woman, so that was of no consequence, but Derrick would be horrified for sure. She wasn't sure how Mike and Micky would feel. These were just details she'd have to worry about later. Enjoy now, worry later.

"Okay, sweet butt," she snuggled up to him. My candy ass," she teased. He loved it when she baby talked to him. He couldn't say why, as he'd never liked that kind of thing before. In fact, he had detested it. But with Deanna, it was different, distinct. It was part of who she was. If she wanted to baby him, he would be accommodating, and he was learning to love every second of it.

He and Peter had some work to do. They needed to convince her that their intentions were honorable—that they weren't seeing her as an easy mark. They were of the same mind. She already knew the truth within herself, he was sure of it. But he wanted not the tiniest shred of a doubt to remain in her mind. He wanted _all _of her for the two of them, all her love, devotion, loyalty, and most of all, her trust. How could they, after all, give her the full extent of their love if she was not one hundred percent theirs?

They didn't know it, but despite all her questions, she had fallen hard and thoroughly, and her feelings for them were bittersweet and poignant. She was so very happy, yet so very afraid . . . She was way too susceptible. Oh Lord, she'd fall apart, battered and bleeding if she lost them now . . .


	30. Chapter 30

So . . . they had the rest of the day and that night, and then they'd be leaving Molokai in the morning. Deanna tried to swallow that idea without rolling over and playing dead. It was funny how she almost felt like she was leaving a place she'd lived her entire life, or an old friend . . .

She tried to think of anything she especially wanted to do today, but only one thing stood out in her mind. Davy and Peter. All she really wanted was to be near them. It would probably take several days until they could get a flight once they were back in Maui, so their vacation wouldn't be over yet. She just had a hard time withstanding the thought that they'd have to leave the island of Molokai behind. It went without saying that Molokai would always be very special to all three of them. It was here that the magic had blossomed.

As she and Davy walked out of the tent, Peter sat, propped up against a tree, reading. It was something he was avid about. And somehow, seeing him with a book in his hand was a turn-on. The tortoise sat beside him. From the look on Peter's face, Deanna knew instantly that Davy had already told him this would be their last day. He smiled, but the enthusiasm wasn't quite all the way there. He usually looked at her with unmasked eagerness and joy in his eyes. This time he was forcing a sanguine attitude.

"See how he sits beside me?" Peter indicated the tortoise. "There aren't even any bananas around."

It astonished Deanna how the reptile seemed to like Peter as much as Peter cared for him. _Not possible,_ she thought. Tortoises don't form attachments to humans. But she was sure that even a reptile enthusiast would be hard-put to explain this.

"Davy said we could leave both tents for him," she said cautiously, watching Peter circumspectly to be sure she didn't trigger any tears.

"Yeah, he told me too. But . . . it won't be that long before we're back." He repeated Davy's words almost verbatim.

"Yes, that's true."

"I'll miss him, but I'll see him again, and after all, he's been here too long, he wouldn't want to leave anyway, even if we _could_ take him back with us."

"I'm glad you realize that, Peter. He's much happier here on this island with the huge variety of leaves and flowers and stuff he'd never get in Southern California. And most desert tortoises have to subsist on cacti. He's really fortunate," contributed Davy.

Deanna studied Peter, pondering about how he was so sweet, but also was becoming somewhat of a savage. It made her smile. A _gentle _savage, if there was such a thing.. A savage in a positive kind of way. He had a natural sensuality about him. He was_ always_ ready, day or night, to kiss, cuddle or make love. And boy, could he make the passion flow! She could wake him out of a sound sleep, and he'd be ready at a moment's notice. In fact, she could seduce him without really doing anything—just suggesting. Hell, just_ looking _at him!

And he was the same way with Davy. He and Davy were dynamic together. Their bond was more solid than any straight couple she'd ever known. Peter's eyes took on a soft glow whenever Davy got anywhere near him. And he'd been hooked on him for years. That "newness," that novelty, had never worn off. Peter was hopelessly in love with him.

It also dumbfounded Deanna at the provocative language Peter sometimes used, considering how innocent he looked. He did it mostly only during sex, and he caused Deanna to discover something she hadn't known about herself. It got her hot. Scorching hot. Insidiously, he had found out what she liked to hear, what turned her on. Then he'd capitalized on it avidly. His sunny disposition could turn dark and sultry the moment she began to flirt with him. His eyes would turn from hazel to a brown almost as dark as Davy's, and she would know instantly what he was thinking about. He'd craftily cajole her into the tent, throwing covert glances at Davy to let him know what he was up to.

And Davy . . . that guy was absolutely all man, intrepid and ready to tackle just about anything, but he became helpless as a kitten around Deanna. She could do just about anything with or to him. And he was rapidly becoming that way with Peter too.

Impossibly, Peter was even more touchy-feely than he'd been before. If they were gathering firewood, or sitting on the sand, or walking along the shore, checking fish traps—it didn't matter. Peter would randomly touch both of them frequently. Deanna had seen him slide the flat of his palm across Davy's jaw as he passed him, and the corners of Davy's mouth would tip up in a grin. Davy liked it.

* * *

They sat under the trees that afternoon and Peter was ribbing Davy about his accent. There were a lot of British expressions remaining that Deanna had to ask Davy to explain, but Peter had been around him long enough to be familiar with most of them.

"Remember the time you, me, Mick and Mike were talking about visiting our families, and you said you were going back to Manchester, and I couldn't understand you with your accent, and I thought you said you were going to go masturbate?" Peter said.

Davy chuckled. "Yeah, I've inadvertently gotten myself into trouble lots of times when people misunderstood me. I also remember people saying, 'excuse me," if they bumped into me at a club when I first came to America. In England, 'excuse me' most often means someone has burped or farted. In England we say 'Sorry' if we bump into someone. So when people were saying 'excuse me' to me, for a while there I thought American people burped and farted an awful lot."

And of course, Peter was always giving Davy a hard time about how frequently he said, "You must be joking" when he was surprised or disbelieving about something.

Deanna found all of this very amusing. Then the talk turned to sex, but in a subtle way.

"We refer to private parts as 'bits,' 'Aussie sex' refers to oral sex with a woman, 'strawberry creams' are a woman's breasts, and so on. Girls would look at me as if I was mentally deranged when I said these things when I came over here. And I never had a woman here who knew what 'bollocks' meant."

Well, Deanna had never heard any of these terms, but she wasn't about to admit it to Davy for fear of appearing ignorant. Nevertheless, she wanted to learn some of them because she thought it would be fun to occasionally throw one of them at him and watch his reaction.

They took it easy that last day on Molokai, for it was what Deanna wanted, and the guys honored it. After the firewood was gathered, Deanna packed their suitcases with Davy's help, since he was so efficient at it. There was nothing left to do, so she joined them outside with their latest catch—a papio that was about five pounds. They had canned beans and peas with it. The meat was tender and better than Deanna had expected.

She wore shorts she'd worn many times before, and a tank top Davy had also seen more than a few times. Still, every time he saw her, no matter what she wore, his breathing hitched. He would never get tired of looking at her. Not even if he lived a hundred lifetimes with her. Judging from the way Peter's eyes tracked her, he felt the same way.

They talked about how eager they were to be able to take a shower again when they got to Maui, since they could only wash here, with the fresh water at Peter's shelter not being deep enough to completely immerse themselves. They talked about restaurant food, and how they missed it, not to mention a regular bed under them instead of just sleeping bags between themselves and the ground. But underneath all the talk, they were grieving already. Someday Molokai would become popular, but they hoped that wouldn't happen before they could return. Who knew—they might even be able to bring Micky and Mike with them next time.

Nothing was planned, and not a word spoken, but they found themselves cuddling in the sand after their dinner, the sun still warm, dreamy thoughts seeping into their hearts and causing them to drift over to the romantic side. The guys were extra heedful of Deanna, and she soaked it up. She never felt snubbed or ignored, even with the guys' new romance budding the way it was. Davy and Peter made love more often, because guys being the way they were, their hormones were always about to boil over. She loved to watch them seduce each other. Davy would play a little hard to get, and Peter would practically purr from anticipation. That, in turn, would entice Davy to approach Peter, who might playfully back off for a minute or two, waiting until Davy was beginning to get intent and impatient, and then he would cave and abdicate his resistance.

Now, Peter was turning his attentive passion toward her. The warm ocean air ruffled his hair. She saw that the same breeze caught Davy's dark hair, sweeping it over his brow. She admired them mutely, caught up in the feelings they evoked in her. She was mesmerized.

When Peter kissed her, it was noticeably different. Demanding, greedy. He was getting less demure all the time. It was the savage rearing its head again. He was a heady drug for her brain, and that transferred to her very core. His lips moved over hers in a take-charge kind of way. She really, really liked this newfound confidence in him.

Her yearning for him rapidly accumulated until she found herself grabbing at him, completely losing her composure. Her libido fed his animalistic side, and then they were flat on the sand, kissing wildly, very little being held back. Peter was a very sexual person. The type of lover he was, if encouraged and coaxed, could modify from shy, bashful and coy to something feral that came forward with a headlong daredevil attitude. That was sexy. So incredibly sexy. Unlike Davy, who was often clandestine and designing in his approach, Peter was very visible and evident.

It seemed Peter liked to alter and tailor his advances, depending on his partner's mood. He seemed to know just what she or Davy required at any given time. He was quite often successful at being a bit retiring with Davy, not quite as accessible. This excited Davy every time, making him want to make a conquest. With Deanna, he was finding that being more direct was often the key. His genius at reading them was becoming legendary among them.

Peter's hunger for her made Deanna feel quite helpless. But sometimes feeling helpless is a good thing. Giving in to him was as delectable as teasing him. It was one of the most enjoyable components of the mating game.

The muscles in Peter's chest bunched when she ran her fingertips over his nipples. Those pent-up passions were breaking through. She bent her spine and licked that nipple, and she swore it twitched.

_Note to self. He likes it. A lot._

She licked again, and he groaned. She opened her mouth, lips circling around it and sucked. His half whine, half whimper was a plea for more. She decided she was going to give him an unrestricted license to let go tonight. She would let him hold nothing back—she was adamant about it.

Peter was shocked at how sensitive his nipples were. No one had even touched them before. Well, Davy had, but no girl had. When her lips and tongue worked over them, the feeling zipped down to his crotch like electricity. He'd had no idea he had so many erogenous zones until Deanna and Davy had awakened his awareness.

Davy was barely breathing. Truth be known, he'd rather watch this than breathe. Deanna acted as if she was savoring Peter, and he had no doubt she was. On to the other nipple as she pulled off his swimming trunks. He allowed it as long as he could, and then he had to take action.

Faster than a quasar, Peter flipped her onto her back, his eyes showing intensity that reached new heights, and he said, "First, I'm going to pleasure you until you think you can't take anymore—until you're totally and completely satisfied. Then . . . I'm gonna . . . fuck you."

She'd never seen this side of Peter. The erotic language, yes, a few times, but the deep, fierce look in his eyes was not your everyday Peter who was mild, gracious and affable. This Peter was pure passion with an edge, a kind of spark that shone brighter than she she'd ever seen on him before. So bright it hurt her eyes, yet there was also a dark quality to him, his gaze almost forbidden. Mystical, obscure. He looked like he was starving, and she was a three-course meal. Dessert included.

He began by kissing her neck, then licking, then sucking. Sweet, forceful seduction was what it was. While she could stop him in an instant with one word, she'd be out of her mind if she did. He was a lot of man to handle, but that was the best part. The way he wanted her so badly, so overwhelmingly, was a seduction in and of itself.

When he kissed her, he didn't mess around. It was all tongue, moans, sucking vigorously at her tongue, things that surpassed her wildest dreams. He spent a lot of time worshipping her breasts, teasing her, stimulating her, making her want to beg with no shame. She wanted all he had to give her with a startling selfishness.

The eager pull of his mouth at her nipples caused a whirlwind inside her belly, at her core, increasing the moistness between her legs ten- fold. He was greedy, and so amorous, so lovestruck that even Davy could see it in his mannerisms.

Tonight, their last night, was to be extra special. They could all feel it as if it were a vibration in the very air around them. Peter's body slid gracefully down until his head was level with her sex. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as Peter parted her legs wide, then wider. Deanna looked down, watching as his tongue made an appearance as he licked her long and slow, from the bottom all the way to the top. He did this countless times, stopping as Davy had done to him, solely to tantalize her.

She lifted her hips, imploring him to continue. He would for a few seconds, then he'd retreat. He knew how much pleasure it had brought him when Davy had teased him in this way, and he wished to bring her the same level of bliss he'd reached.

When her body began to squirm, and she looked practically agonized, he finally quelled her need. He plunged his tongue inside a few times, his eyes ablaze, and then he worked his way, torturously slowly, to her clit.

The moment his tongue touched it, her desire spiked, and the orgasm with her name on it was right there, waiting. He licked, sucked and nipped at it, changing his method, and thus, the sensations she was feeling every few seconds. Once her legs began to tremble and her stomach to tense, Peter sucked her clit firmly into his mouth, flicking it with his avid tongue in a steady, unwavering tempo.

Deanna felt a sudden and staggering need to feel him in her mouth. She just had to taste him. She wanted to do with Peter what she'd seen Davy and Peter do. She wanted to make him feel as good as she did. At first, Peter was jarred, thinking she was getting up. But when she settled herself on top of him, sliding her lips over his cock, he hungrily resumed licking her, then it was back to bringing her to the brink of her greatest pleasure. He was not far behind her, because, like Deanna, he got just as turned on by pleasing as being pleased, so his climax didn't need much coaxing.

He literally milked the orgasm from her as she ground herself into his face, and her cries approached a scream. As the last spasms of her climax claimed her, Peter turned around, and he felt her welcome him by closing tightly around him as he pushed himself in. There were slippery noises as he began to roll his hips, noises that served to boost their passion to ever greater heights. It was so base, so carnal.

He changed the angle a little so he could hit her sweet spot, and she pulsated around him as she squeezed him, the rubbing giving her exquisite pleasure. Now it was her turn to milk the orgasm from him. Suddenly, Peter was thrusting frenetically, without conscious control.

"I love fucking you, Deanna," his voice was hoarse, throaty.

"Don't stop, Peter! Fuck me!" The foreign words that came bursting from her mouth were a shock even to herself, but the waves of pulsing ecstasy took charge.

Davy's ragged breathing reached her ears right as Peter spurted within her, hard and drawn-out. Before Peter was even fully slaked, she knew she had to have Davy. She wanted his cock so badly that she would have drooled had her mouth not been closed.

As soon as Peter rolled off her to allow her to approach Davy, she was brushing Davy's hand away from his greatly engorged cock, not even bothering with any preliminaries. She licked his crown, and then her lips pulled at his rim. He disappeared into her mouth as his face registered the jolt of the warmth enclosing the most sensitive part of his body. He closed his eyes, relishing how she delicately tongued him while sucking. The humming sounds of her pleasure as she slurped was so sinfully erotic.

His raspy breath caught when he saw that Peter was still erect, and remembered that Peter liked lots of sex, and could make love several times a night. He motioned for Peter to come near, albeit weakly, as Deanna's mouth was quickly bringing him to the edge, and all his energy flowed to his cock. He turned his torso slightly sideways, and Peter turned on his own side in front of Davy.

The heady sounds of Deanna's and Davy's sucking caused this to be a very short session. Inhibitions became a long lost memory. Deanna was rubbing herself, and she sucked harder as she approached orgasm, causing Davy to grunt. The thrashing and muted sounds of pleasure escalated. Peter was the last to come, as he'd just come scarcely fifteen minutes ago, but they had come close enough together to share the special intimacy while they took a few minutes to regain their energy. They luxuriated in the afterglow, holding each other and murmuring sweet things. A little later, Peter and Davy went for one more round as Deanna watched. Peter had to be humored, he joked, as his sex drive was seemingly never ending.

When they had reclaimed the strength in their spent legs, they managed to stagger into the tent. A little later, a gentle rain began to fall, and they dragged the smell of it deep into their lungs. The mixture of ocean and rain scent was oddly intoxicating. The thought that had been in the back of Deanna's mind all day surfaced again. They'd be leaving tomorrow. Deanna almost wished there was a leak in this tent so the guys would be less likely to notice her tears.

* * *

She contemplated Peter as he shaved in front of her mirror as she held it up for him on this, their last morning on Molokai.

"I love it when you have a five o'clock shadow, but I also love you clean shaven because your dimple shows up even better."

Peter flushed, fighting a grin. "I can't shave if I'm smiling. I'll cut myself," he mock complained. He'd shaved her legs for her a little while ago, making it into quite the intimate act. After every stroke of the razor, he'd run his palms along her leg to be sure it was completely smooth. It seared her skin with the heat behind it. The heat of his gaze, the way his fingers cupped her calf in a half evaluation and half caress. He knew . . . by now he_ knew_ how he affected her. And he played on it, showcasing his dimple whenever he saw an opportunity.

_Oh, he was wicked._

The scent of his after shave made her woozy when he smoothed it on. It was all coming back to the same thing—seduction. A need to do it, a need to experience it again. But Kapena would be here soon, and they didn't have time, so Peter took on some power from that fact. He could tantalize her all the way to Maui in Kapena's canoe. Little touches here and there, between strokes of the oars.

Davy had his own agenda. He was planning on them, he and Peter, to be wining and dining Deanna tonight when they were back in Maui. He wanted them to look really dapper. He was planning on buying them a couple of suits. After all, Peter had brought an extra suitcase, and he'd buy another if it were necessary. They were going to spoil Deanna the way she deserved to be spoiled. Dinner, wine, then lots of romance later on. Serious, opinionated discussion was an aphrodesiac for them. Being passionate about a subject got their juices flowing, and Davy planned on initiating such a discussion. Lots of loving attention might also help ease the sting of leaving Molokai.

Kapena seemed quite intrigued with them. He saw they had two tents erected, but the way both guys doted on Deanna had him wondering. Davy didn't seem to mind when Peter helped her into the canoe, his hand lingering around her waist as he whispered in her ear and smiled charmingly.

_They acted like lovers._

Kapena was bewildered. How could Davy let another guy come onto his girlfriend like that? He knew how much Davy cared for her, because Davy had more or less told him outright.

_Oh . . . now he got it. How dim-witted could he be? A threesome! They were sharing her!_

For a moment Kapena pined for his own youth. Ah, but young love was complicated and tiring. No, tiring was an understatement. Staying up all night making love was good, but the arguing, breaking up and getting back together . . . no, he didn't need stuff like that anymore in his life. He was too old for that kind of senselessness and waste of energy. No, he was perfectly fine with his comfortable lifestyle at home. Still . . . looking at Deanna made him just a little sorry he hadn't indulged like these young people when he was their age. Come to think of it, if he'd had the chance, he might have. The opportunity just hadn't presented itself. At least not with a girl this beautiful. The three of them looked pretty damn, uh, _fulfilled._ Like they reached a zenith regularly.

Earlier, Deanna had asked Peter why he hadn't named the tortoise. Peter, petting the animal's head had given her a very reasonable answer. "Because, if he has a name, he'll be harder to leave." That was rational.

She did notice Peter's eyes straying back in the direction of his reptile friend longingly as the canoe moved away from the beach after they'd loaded their trash, the food that was left over, and their suitcases. The tortoise sat sunning and watching them, unaware they wouldn't be returning. At least not for quite a while.

"He has his tents, babe," Davy fondled Peter's shoulder for a moment, and the gesture wasn't lost on Kapena.

_Oh my God,_ Kapena's head was now reeling. _Looks like the guys are not only sharing her, but . . . _he couldn't finish the thought. Some things are best left alone. Better to put it out of his mind.

The ride back to Maui seemed to take a very short time.

"I'm right sorry to have to say goodbye, you know. We'll be coming back, you see, Kapena. We just don't know exactly when," explained Davy as the threesome unloaded the canoe. "You've been ever so gracious."

Deanna impulsively hugged Kapena, feeling as if she was leaving an old friend. Peter and Davy shook his hand.

Kapena rowed away, shaking his head and smiling as he pondered the way the threesome had left two tents for the tortoise of Molokai.

* * *

"We're going out tonight, mates," announced Davy. "Peter and I will buy suits and take you to a fancy restaurant."

Before they went shopping though, they made their calls. Deanna's mother was beside herself with joy and relief that Deanna would be coming home in a few days.

When Peter called the Pad, Mike answered, immediately launching into complaints about how the groupie girls had been bitching about Davy's absence.

"Didn't they miss me too?" Peter asked anxiously. He didn't care for the groupie girl types any more than Davy did, but he did want to think his music was appreciated.

"They're missing you too Pete, but, man, you know David outranks the rest of us by a wide margin."

"We'll be back soon, Mike. We're going to book a flight tomorrow."

That evening, the guys, perfectly groomed in dark suits and ties, escorted Deanna into the restaurant, which was so dark she could hardly see to walk to the table. Why was it that the more expensive the restaurant, the darker it was? Nevertheless, it seemed that every eye in the place had settled on the handsome threesome. Davy and Peter pulled her chair out for her at the same moment, making it look planned and choreographed. They were so full of poise and dignity. They looked so hot in their suits that her libido shot through the ceiling. It was too much and yet not enough at the same time. She wanted them so very badly. Yes . . . right here in the restaurant. They were more mouth- watering than anything that could possibly be on the menu.

Deanna tried on a haughty air, loving the feeling of luxury and being spoiled by her guys. She didn't even so much as acknowledge all the pairs of eyes studying them. She'd been humble her entire life. But tonight. . . tonight she felt carefree and unaffected. Tonight was going to be different. She was going to sample the life of the rich, even if it were only for a couple of hours. She wasn't going to be ashamed either, that she had two boyfriends. Two lovers.

She wanted to drag her fingers through their perfectly combed hair and pull their lips to hers. And the fact that she couldn't do it in the restaurant made her want them all the more. She fidgeted in the midst of her pent-up desire. They were right there—accessible, yet she couldn't have them. It made her a little crazy inside. So instead, she lavished attention on both of them equally, stifling giggles at the whispers the older women at the nearest table were exchanging. She could see them in her peripheral vision, and they had to know it, but that didn't stop them. They continued to whisper and examine the three lovers as if they were under a microscope. Deanna wondered if she, Davy and Peter would be gossiped about tomorrow. Carelessly liking the idea of stirring up plenty of scandal, she flirted with the guys brazenly, and they ate it up.

Davy and Peter seemed oblivious to anyone else. Wasn't it funny the way women seemed to think about and worry so much more about what other people thought? It was no wonder women seemed to feel more guilt and shame than men.

"Let's go see Norman and Edna tomorrow. I kind of . . . made sure we would go back there before we left. I left a suitcase there on purpose," she admitted sheepishly.

"I knew you did," Davy sounded a little smug as he raised his eyebrows at her. "You only had a few changes of clothes on Molokai, and I knew you'd brought more than that."

They explained Norman and Edna to Peter, who sat quietly listening. "Of course we would have gone by their house to tell them goodbye," said Davy. "Do you think I'd deny you that?"

"No, but I wanted to make sure."

Deanna looked around at all the polished cherry wood in the restaurant, the fine art on the walls. The only time she'd been to a restaurant of this caliber in years was when Davy had taken her to the one here on the island, before Peter had gotten here. She felt so pampered and indulged, so jovial, with hardly a care in the world.

The candlelight emanating from their table wove its way into Deanna's shining hair, enchanting her young suitors. The necklace Davy had bought her picked up the flickering light, radiating a warm sparkle. The bracelet Peter had presented her with earlier today, after some shopping with Davy, dazzled the eye with aquamarine stones on silver. It didn't matter that the stones weren't of the highest quality—she loved it anyway. It was every bit as precious to her as if it had cost a million dollars. Her dress was a rosy hue, strapless and it cut in sharply at the waist, accenting her full hips—hips that Davy and Peter adored. It flowed, coming just above the knee, billowing gracefully when she walked. It was supreme for seduction. Understated, yet suggestively flirty.

The prime rib was so tender and flavorful that Deanna said quietly that her mouth just might have an orgasm. Peter and Davy got a good laugh out of that. When she got up to go to the restroom, they both rose like perfect gentlemen, and she felt many pairs of eyes follow her all the way.

When she emerged from the stall to wash her hands, a middle-aged woman with heavy eye make-up, foundation that was caked on, and cheeks that were overly rouged in bright orange, didn't even try to pussyfoot around.

"Those are such charming, good looking boys you're with, honey," she purred.

"Thank you," said Deanna nonchalantly as she ran a brush through her hair and touched up her lipstick.

"Is the blonde your brother?" Now, Deanna knew without a single doubt that if the woman had been watching even a little bit, she would already know the answer to that question.

"Oh dear, no," Deanna didn't elaborate. But the message she sent was clear nevertheless. The woman had attempted to see if Deanna would give a hint to the obvious, and when she didn't, the woman appeared crestfallen, as if she really needed some juicy material to tell her lady friends.

Bitterly disappointed, she watched Deanna walk out of the restroom with her head held high, not an ounce of shame in her. _Oh, these young people nowadays!_ She supposed the three of them had orgies together, although she wasn't quite sure if three qualified as an orgy.

Peter and Davy scrambled to stand again as soon as Deanna approached the table. She told them about the encounter in the restroom, and they found it very humorous.

Deanna was touching both of them under the table, and none too discreetly. Somehow, she wasn't able to stop herself. She kicked off a shoe and ran her bare foot and toes up their pant legs at random, watching their faces for the reaction. A haphazard hand on a thigh . . . Davy cleared his throat and tried to appear solemn, Peter sported a rather kooky smile. Nothing much embarrassed Peter, especially if he was enjoying it as much as he was enjoying this. Now that he had gained confidence, he almost seemed to forget about the prying eyes.

She fed them both dessert with the same fork, feeling even more eyes feasting on the proceedings at their table, but she was reveling in it, getting high on it. She found that she enjoyed exploiting—in a positive way, that she had two lovers, and that she was overwhelmingly fond of them. The feeling was heady, dare-devilish, but she knew instinctively that at least a fraction of the women at the restaurant were envious. Even the blue haired old ladies, although they gasped, were transfixed nonetheless.

Deanna was feeling warm inside from the wine. She also felt dreamy and craved affection. She fantasized about curling up with both of them, sitting on their laps, and burying her face in their necks.

The wine was quickly making her head feel a little fuzzy, and after they'd finished a couple of bottles, Davy and Peter exchanged knowing looks. Deanna had been single-mindedly seducing them with her flirtatious remarks and sultry smiles, teasing them rigorously with the happenings under the table, and they were looking forward to paying her back for it. Ah, sweet, erotic revenge! Deanna knew what she was in for when they got back to their hotel, and she could hardly wait. As always, it was going to be a wild, yet very smooth ride . . .


	31. Chapter 31

**Here it is at last, the final chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading it even a fraction as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you endlessly to my wonderful supporters. You have given me the incentive to start another story very soon, involving Davy in a Western ranch setting. I'm excited and really looking forward to it. See you soon!**

* * *

Yeah, Peter and Davy gave a new meaning to the word interesting. They kept her guessing. There was love and tenderness in their eyes as they helped her from the rental car.

As they jointly held the door to their room open for her, Deanna ducked under their arms and entered, her eyes flicking to how they tugged their ties from side to side to loosen them. Oh dear Lord, but it excited her. Such a simple thing. It easily made the top five on the list of the sexiest things she'd ever seen. They could have done a strip tease and it wouldn't have been any more arousing.

The thought that he had to go and get a flight for them tomorrow was slowly shredding Davy's heart, but he knew they couldn't stay in paradise forever. Soon, they'd be going back to reality, and he fervently prayed that nothing between them would change. Really, nothing else much mattered when compared to that.

Peter threw a devastating smile Deanna's way, and her heart stopped for an moment. In the very next instant, the ever unpredictable Peter lunged across the room, wrenching Davy's suit jacket and shirt off his body, throwing them over a chair, and flinging the smaller man down onto his back on the couch, pinning his wrists over his head as he began to kiss him feverishly. Davy, briefly stunned, nevertheless, didn't object, but instead, heartily returned Peter's kisses. Deanna knew she wasn't the only one who had been entertaining wickedly sexy thoughts at dinner.

The heat grew in Deanna's pelvis, tickling and tingling and zapping her with the most powerful, monumental passion that she hadn't even known she was capable of. Her men, ardent and zealous, essentially eating each other up, created a tug at her heart that was impossible to break free of. The two of them together were mesmerizing, enthralling.

Exploring Davy's mouth with an agile tongue, Peter stretched upward and began to devour_ her_ mouth in the same manner when Deanna drew near. Still holding Davy's wrists, Peter moaned into Deanna's mouth.

"I want you both," he panted when their lips finally parted.

The three of them made love all night, spreading the ecstasy around liberally, taking and receiving freely. By early morning they were all finally satiated and frankly, worn out. They slept in and then went to the beach in the afternoon, taking sandwiches and cheese with them, happy to do nothing but enjoy being together.

Peter and Davy swam for a while, Deanna watching from her beach towel and wondering how they could possibly be lively enough to swim. She was tuckered out, all her strength sapped, and weary to the bone. Still, she smiled as she watched their gleeful antics.

_Boys will be boys._

Suddenly, someone closed in on her, sitting down in the sand directly beside her towel. Not afraid, but distinctly annoyed, she glared at the man, only to become flustered in a heartbeat. It was the same guy who had come on to her in the shop that day! The one Davy had chased away. Of all the damn nerve! He knew she had a boyfriend, and besides that Davy and Peter's beach towels were on her opposite side.

"Hi," he said in what he must have thought was a provocative tone. It only sounded nasal and weak to her.

"Um . . . don't you ever give up?"

"Ah no, not easily. Are you enjoying the beach?"

Here she was still basking in the afterglow of last night, and he comes along and leaves a sour taste in her mouth. Robbing her of her reflections of last night's memories. If she could have just dig up the nerve, she would have informed him that her _boyfriends _were out in the water. But she couldn't quite bring herself to that. Instead, she said, "My friends are out there," pointing to the water as she talked, "and they are very protective of me."

"Is one of them your boyfriend that was in the store that day?" he asked.

"_Yes," _she enunciated the word clearly and louder than intended. She was just irritated to the bone.

Just then, Davy and Peter, having finished their swim, were walking toward the beach, and seeing the man beside Deanna, they advanced quickly. Both were irked and offended, and their menacing scowls made no secret of it.

"Davy, Peter," she crooned as she got up and hugged them both, not caring that they were very wet and cold. She was just so glad to see them, and that they hadn't happened to be way out there in the water and not noticed her unwelcome visitor.

She looked back at the guy, and wished she had a video clip of his reaction. His expression clearly said, "Oh shit—_TWO_ of them!"

"Leaving, are you?" asked Davy sarcastically. Aflame, Davy loomed over him with the most Godawful, ominous threat in his stance, sparks arcing from his eyes. Peter loomed on the other side, looking as if he was about to bulldoze the guy. The guy didn't even bother to say another word. He rapidly gained his feet, turned and walked away briskly.

Davy and Peter laughed. "I bet he wishes _he_ was so lucky!" said Peter cheerfully.

"That really pisses me off," said Davy. "That's the second time now!" and he explained the last encounter to Peter.

"Jerk," muttered Peter under his breath.

"Yeah, bloody jerk wanker, he is." agreed Davy. He wanted to use more colorful language, but it would have been _too _colorful.

Despite their all night lovemaking, the competition, as is often the case with men, got the guys' minds on sexy thoughts, and they began flirting heavily with Deanna. Danger, and the imminent impending chance of a scuffle a moment ago got them revved up, their libidos in high gear. Deanna was happy to accept their affection. Glancing around to be sure no kids were present, she kissed Davy directly on the lips, and then did the same to Peter. Both guys were startled, but also very aroused and stimulated that she would do such a thing in front of others; as there were quite a few people around them, but at a slight distance. They kissed her back, and soon the three of them were side by side, each guy enjoying his turn kissing her.

Somewhere in the back of her consciousness Deanna was aware there were many people nearby, and the conception crept up on her that she was experiencing she same feeling she'd had at the restaurant. Only this time, it was ever stronger, because she was actually kissing both of them passionately for all to see. Without a speck of shame. She knew it was strongly evident they were lovers. She was hesitant at first, but the more she got into it, the headier it got, and the less she cared what anyone thought.

Davy and Peter maneuvered so that they were facing each other on their sides, with Deanna between them. Peter was behind her, and he reached over her to fondle Davy's erection through his swimming trunks. It started out with only a slide of his hand, and Davy's body jerked with the pleasure. Then Peter's fingers closed around Davy's shaft, stroking it slowly. The three of them were so close as to block off anyone's view, but just the fact that they were out in the open, in public, threw all three of them into a no holds barred near-frenzy. The excitement hypnotized Deanna. Everything was fuzzy for her except for the sound of them sucking in air noisily, and staring at Peter's caressing hand.

Deanna's hand soon joined Peter's, and Davy began moaning, while at the same time attempting to appear laid back and casual to onlookers. But with all of them being this close, it looked anything _but_ casual. Deanna fondled Davy's cock, explored its contours and set Davy on fire at the same time Peter was being more assertive and rubbing it vigorously. The situation became unbearable for Davy.

"This is daft . . . let's go back to our room," suggested Davy via a strained voice. Davy and Peter held their beach towels in front of them as they traversed the sand to get back to their room. Just as in the restaurant, all eyes followed them.

As soon as they entered and the door was closed, Peter began stroking Davy's cock again through his swim suit, and demandingly. The both of them were panting. Davy could no longer hold himself together. Peter was kissing him, up against the wall, rubbing his cock against Davy's as his hand continued to work.

"Oh God, Pete. Suck me . . . "

Those erotic words echoed in Deanna's ears. The urgency in Davy's voice, the wild yearning in Peter's eyes. They were impetuous, impulsive. More so than she'd ever seen them.

"I'm dying to," Peter's voice cracked as he went to his knees, yanking Davy's swim suit down to his ankles. Deanna gasped as Davy's very swollen shaft came into view. Peter was on it in a hot second. His lips claimed it, gliding gracefully yet urgently, and then he stopped to trace the veins in Davy's cock with his tongue, flicking it over the head, causing Davy's hips to thrust forward without control, his cock to jerk upward and almost slap his belly.

Deanna watched Davy's eyes long enough to see how glazed, how glassy they were, then her eyes dropped again to Peter's mouth, wet and hungry, devouring his friend. Taking Davy deep into his throat, then coming back up slowly, the strong suction causing Davy to grip Peter's shoulders and cry out.

Peter lowered his head and licked Davy's balls, Davy's breath becoming louder, and now raspy. Peter moved his head back up and nipped at the crown, becoming more aggressive by the second, and Deanna could tell Davy's head was spinning, the way he gripped Peter's shoulders as if they were a lifeline.

"Peter, babe, I'm gonna come down your throat!" Davy's voice had risen an octave. Peter was working hard and fast, his cheeks hollowing with the force of the suction he was applying. He was a little out of his mind with desire.

Davy's cry startled Deanna because it sounded so primitive and needy. Hot jets spurted from the end of his cock, but couldn't be seen, as they were exploding just how he'd described they would—directly down Peter's throat. Peter sucked harder, letting the emission glide over his tongue, savoring Davy's sweet essence before swallowing.

The aftershocks went on for a while, as Peter's tongue slowly eased Davy back down after his terrific orgasm. Davy's body convulsed with the sheer intensity of it. Peter was so giving, and he so thoroughly enjoyed it, not really wanting to stop even when it was over.

Davy, half collapsed against the wall, allowed Peter to hold him up. His orgasm had been acute, so fierce that his legs would barely support him.

Davy let the strength course back through his veins as he recovered, and he took Peter and Deanna's hands and they went to the bed.

"I want you to sit on Peter's face, and I want to watch," Davy announced. Peter eyes lit up with expectation. Deanna knew just from his expression that he'd never done that before. He looked intrigued and eager to try, the light in his eyes unusually bright, and that was the way he was with all things to do with sex. It was a treat to see him so impassioned.

Deanna was somewhat shy to initiate the act, but Peter pulled her on top of him and Davy coaxed her forward until her pelvic area was right below his chin. Then Peter picked her up and set her right on his face. She gasped, as it was unexpected, the sensations rippling through her as his silky tongue began to whip around, sucking in her lips, delving inside, and, at last, licking steadily, with a greediness that he didn't even bother to try to contain. He sucked her as he had sucked Davy—with a purpose, yet not in a hurried way. He allowed her passion to build, the climax to form, and then to spill over as she rocked her lower body back and forth over his mouth, whimpering, imploring him for all he had to give. And give he did . . .

The warmth gathered and spread until it encompassed her entire body. Higher and higher she climbed, Peter's intent fixed on her, and only her. The vibration of his pleased hum reached her very core.

She came violently, just as Davy, watching on, could no longer bear to see Peter's huge throbbing cock go to waste. He'd been watching it twitch and convulse. He moved over and sucked Peter avidly, encouraging him to thrust by cupping his friend's buttocks with his hands.

Deanna, now allowing Peter to work on her second orgasm, knew what Davy was doing, and she wondered how Davy could handle so much unleashed desire. After all, Peter had brought them both to completion, and his cock had been almost purple, leaking pre-come the last time she'd seen it. He must have been in dire need. He was finally receiving pleasure himself.

Peter felt like boiling over. Pleasuring them as he had brought him such satisfaction, and now, to receive such pleasure at the same time was titillation to the extreme. And he let them know how ecstatic he was about it. Deanna thought he would completely inhale her—he was that avid, had that much gusto. His muffled cries, his whines were all painfully genuine. He came so hard that Davy was hard put to execute his consumption of the thick, copious liquid without it running out of his mouth.

Peter's explosion brought on Deanna's own combustion, and she gripped the headboard so hard that her fingers turned white as she gave herself up to the bliss of his now well experienced tongue, mouth and lips.

* * *

The next morning Davy left in the rental car to buy their return plane tickets. He didn't want them to go along, as he wanted them to enjoy today without knowing which day they'd be leaving. There was to be no damper put on today—the day they were going to see Edna and Norman.

Davy didn't say anything when he got back, the tickets tucked firmly in his pocket. He'd been able to get tickets for day after tomorrow. That meant only one more day in Hawaii, if you didn't count today.

Peter had expressed a desire to make love on the balcony of their current room, and Davy was not one to argue the matter. Tonight would be a good time, Peter had reminded them regularly once they'd hit the road to Edna and Norman's place. _How could it possibly be as good as last night had been?_ All three of them had affection, tenderness and loving on their minds.

"Peter, you gotta practice some restraint, man," Davy teased. Peter didn't like restraint. He liked wild abandon much more. In fact, he craved it—with Deanna and Davy. He let this be known as he had his hands all over both Davy and Deanna clear up until the time Edna and Norman's cottage came into view. That was when Davy reluctantly had to tell him, again, to cool it.

Up until then, Peter had touched Deanna's breasts, and put his hands down the front of her blouse, causing her nipples to respond at a moment's notice. They hardened, elongated and stuck out prominently, begging for more, no matter what she tried to think about to thwart her desire. Davy had a full time job keeping his eyes on the road. Peter also rubbed Davy's chest and crotch. All three of them were hot, bothered and aching for each other, which was no condition to be in when they saw the older couple. So they all put on serious, yet jubilant faces, aware that it wouldn't be that much longer until they were alone together.

Norman and Edna were exultant to see Davy and Deanna, and when introduced to Peter, were pleased to meet him, full of hospitality that was extended plentifully. They liked Peter from the first moment, but who didn't? Peter, affable as he was, took right to the older couple and won their hearts almost immediately.

They stayed for a few hours and enjoyed lunch there, under the trees, chatting animatedly. Davy had made it a point earlier to tell Peter that the couple thought he and Deanna were married.

In the midst of Edna's pleas for them to stay just a little longer, Deanna sadly had to nearly tear herself away, Davy with Deanna's suitcase in tow. In private, Deanna had told Edna she'd left it there on purpose to insure Davy would be sure to bring her back again before they left the island. Edna's smile melted her heart.

"Oh, I knew it was here. I saw how you placed it against the wall in the corner. I knew what you were doing. We women have to be a little sly at times," Edna's wrinkles deepened as the woman smiled fondly at Deanna. Deanna reminded her that they would be back—that it was just a matter of time. She impulsively hugged both Edna and Norman as Davy and Peter waited patiently by the jeep.

Normally a fairly fast talker, Davy spoke up in a slow, calculating way as he drove the jeep back to the hotel.

"I got us a flight for day after tomorrow."

Deanna and Peter were mute. It dawned on them in a bittersweet rush.

_That meant only one more day!_

One more full day, and they'd be leaving the next morning after that. Somehow, they hadn't expected it to be quite _that_ soon. Deanna had hoped for three or four more days at the least. Her chest felt constricted, and the gloom that felt a lot like mourning splashed over her like a glass of ice cold water.

But at the same time, she was going home with her two lovers, and nothing was going to change. Only their surroundings. They would remain together.

As soon as they pulled up to the hotel, Davy ushered them inside.

"I have something to say," he announced as soon as they got inside, he sitting between them on the couch. He said it quickly, as if he was afraid that if he didn't speak now, he might lose his power of speech.

Deanna and Peter sat quietly, inquiring looks on their faces.

"I'm afraid I'm . . . no, not afraid, that's the wrong word. Rather, I'm_ happy_ to say . . . that . . . I'm in love." No reaction to his words, just blank stares.

"With both of you," Davy added, his voice just over a whisper.

Yeah, maybe he'd been afraid of rejection, or some other negative reaction, but Deanna and Peter had yanked that fear right out from under him. They converged on him and kissed his cheek and neck from both sides.

"Oh Davy! I've been wanting to say the same thing—but things had happened so quickly with Peter that I didn't know how long I should wait to say it," Deanna's face had such a soft, loving expression.

"This may sound contrived, but it's not at all. I've been agonizing over how to bring it up," said Peter. "I'm having the same thoughts."

"So we're _all _in love with _each other_?" Davy wanted to be absolutely sure he understood them right.

Peter and Deanna looked at each other and nodded their heads, first at each other, and then at Davy. Their hands all piled on top of each other.

"This trip . . . " Deanna struggled to express herself. "This trip has been so much more than I dreamed it would be. It was glorious before you got here, Peter. But now . . . now it feels complete. The three of us."

* * *

They waited until after two in the morning to slip out onto the balcony. The three of them dragged their sleeping bags along with them and made love for hours in the cool, fresh ocean air of Maui. They all agreed it was the very best way they could think of to spend their next-to-last night in Hawaii. At one point they went out to get some take-out food, then came right back and continued pleasing each other.

When the day finally arrived, and as they boarded the plane, Deanna took a deep breath, constantly reminding herself that they would be back, and they would also be returning to Molokai. But for now, it was back to Malibu and their lives as usual. But with a very different twist. They were now a threesome. And even better, a threesome in love. She looked forward to meeting Mike and Micky. She even looked forward to breaking the news to the two other band members of their special relationship. Davy and Peter had reassured her that Mike and Micky would not think badly of her, but would be happy for them. She couldn't wait to see Cassie and Derrick again. Her mother would be a big challenge, but she hoped that some day she would grow to accept it.

Deanna cuddled up to Davy. "My sweet butt."

"You mean your Candy Ass," Peter reminded her playfully. They all grinned.

As the plane lifted into the air and swung over the islands, she held both their hands, oblivious of the other people on the plane. She was past all that. Davy pointed Molokai out to Deanna from the air. She felt a stinging behind her eyes as she stared at the island, trying to burn the image into her brain like a brand, until she would see it again.

_Goodbye Moloaki . . . and . . . thank you._


End file.
